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VASCONSELOS : . 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD. 


BY  W.  GILMORE  SIMMS 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  YEMASSEE,"  "  THE  FORAYERS,"  "  EUTAW,"  "  KATHARINE 

WALTON,"  "RICHARD  HURDIS,"  "THE  WIGWAM  AND 

THE  CABIN,"  ETC. 


'*  Wife,  mother,  child,  I  know  not.    My  affairs 
Are  servanted  to  others :    Though  I  owe 
My  revenge  properly,  my  remission  lies 
In  Volscian  breasts.    That  we  have  been  familiars, 
Ing-rate  f  orgetf ulness  shall  poison,  rather 
Than  pity  note  how  much." 

CORIOLANUS. 


CHIOAQO: 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO, 

407-425  DEARBORN  STREET 


DONOHUE  &  HENNEBERRY. 

PRINTERS  AND  BINDERS. 
CHICAGO. 


USNJIVEiV 


VASCONSELOS. 


CHAPTER 


"  Nature  did 

Dengn  us  to  be  warriors,  and  to  break  through  our  ring,  the  sea,  by  which  we 
are  environed  ;  and  we,  by  force,  must  fetch  in  what  is  wanting,  or  precious  to  us.' 


IT  is  the  province  of  romance,  even  more  decidedly  than  histo 
ry,  to  recall  the  deeds  and  adventures  of  the  past.  It  is  to  fiction 
that  we  must  chiefly  look  for  those  living  and  breathing  creations 
which  history  quite  too  unfrequently  deigns  to  summon  to  her 
service.  The  warm  atmosphere  of  present  emotions,  and  pro- 
sent  purposes,  belongs  to  the  dramatis  personce  of  art ;  and  she 
is  never  so  well  satisfied  in  showing  us  human  performance 
when  she  betrays  the  passions  and  affections  by  which  they  were 
dictated  and  endured.  It  is  in  spells  and  possessions  of  this 
character,  that  she  so  commonly  supersedes  the  sterner  muse 
whose  province  she  so  frequently  invades;  and  her  offices  are 
not  the  less  legitimate,  as  regards  the  truthfulness  of  things  in 
general,  than  are  those  of  hislon.  because  she  supplies  those  de 
tails  which  the  latter,  mi \\iscly  as  we  think,  but  too  commonly, 
.holds  beneath  her  regard.  In  the  work  before  us  however,  it  is 
our  purpose  to  slight  neither  agency.  \Yc  >hall  det*T  to  each  of 
them,  in  turn,  as  they  may  be  made  t  ;  common  pur; 

They  both  appeal  to  our  a->istaiiee.  and  equally  spread  their  pos 
sessions  beneath  our  eyes.     *\Ve  shall  employ,  without  violating, 
the  material  resources  of  the  Historian,  while  seeking  to  endow 
1  i 

166367 


2  VASCONSKLOS. 

them  with  a  vitality  which  fiction  only  can  confer.  It  is  in  pur 
suit  of  this  object  that  we  entreat  the  reader  to  suppose  the  back 
ward  curtain  withdrawn,  unveiling,  if  only  for  a  moment,  the 
aspects  of  a  period  not  so  remote  as  to  lie  wholly  beyond  our 
sympathies.  We  propose  to  look  back  to  that  dawn  of  the  six 
teenth  century  ;  at  all  events,  to  such  a  portion  of  the  historical 
landscape  of  that  period,  as  to  show  us  some  of  the  first  sunny 
gleams  of  European  light  upon  the  savage  dominions  of  the 
Western  Continent.  To  review  this  epoch  is,  in  fact,  to  survey 
the  small  but  impressive  beginnings  of  a  wondrous  drama  in 
which  we,  ourselves,  are  still  living  actors.  The  scene  is  almost 
\vithin  our  grasp.  The  names  of  the  persons  of  our  narrative 
have  not  yet  ceased  from  Bounding  in  our  ears  ;  and  the  theatre 
of  performan  'lie  boards  of  which,  even  at  this  momeii', 

are  echoing  beneath  their  mighty  footsteps.  Our  curiosity  and 
interest  may  well  be  awakened  tor  awlu'le.  to  an  action,  t lie  fruits 
of  which,  in  some  degree,  are  inuring  to  our  present  benefit. 

It  is  just  three  hundred  years,  since,  in  the  spring  season  of  the 
year  of  Grace,  one  th«>ii>aml  five  hundred  and  thirty-eight,  the 
infant  city  of  Havana  resounded  with  the  tread  of  one  of  the 
noblest  bodies  of  Spanish  chivalry  that  ever  set  loot  in  our  West> 
ern  hemisphere.  That  gay  and  gallant  cavalier,  llernando  De 
Soto — equally  the  courtier  and  the  soldier — having  won  wealth, 
no  less  than  fame,  under  Francis  I'i/arro  in  Peru,  had  now  re- 

.  ed  upon  an  independent  enterprise,  in  an<»t her  region,  for  him 
self.  This  enterprise,  in  the  extravagant  expectations  of  that 
period,  promised  to  be  of  even  more  magnificent  results  than 
those  of  his  great  pi.  and  companion,  already  distin 

guished  by  his  xovereiirn  a-  the  Adelantado  of  Florida. 

Florida — that  wondrous  term  incognita,  which,  for  so  long  a 
time,  led  the  Kurope-an  imagination  astray — our  ambitious  cava- 
lier  was  now  bu-ied  in  making  the  grandest  preparations  for  its 
conquest.  A  thousand  soldi. -p-.  many  of  whom  were  of  tin1 
nob',  :  "f  Spain  and  Portugal,  had  assembled  at  11  ,v. 

for  '  Ming  his  train'  with  a  strength  which 

ised  to  i  i'm  all   hi->  anticipations.     More  than  o 

IT 


THK    SI'ANISII    CAVALIER.  I 

of  this  brilliant  force— for  such  it  was,  if  we  compare  it  with  the 
small  and  ill-organized  bands  wliirh  were  usually  deemed  suffi- 

•  tor  the  conflict  with  the  Indian  races  of  America — consi 

ivalry; — belted  knights,  brave  soldiers,  already  din 

the  v  i,  and  young,  hopeful  gallants,  of  high 

1.  who  had  their  fortunes  to  make,  and  who  had  expended 
til.-  !a-t  ivmains  of  their  patrimony  in  the  dec-orations,  for  this 
enterprise,  of  tbeil  steeds  and  persons.  The  rest  were  >V»ut  bow 
men  and  arquebusiers, — men  of  tough  sinews,  and  mrrals  quite 
as  tough — rude,  sturdy,  desperate,  in  doublets  of  quilted  cotton, 
which  were  only  not  quite  impenetrable  to  an  Indian  arrow. 
Well  might  the  ambitious  spirit  of  Hernando  de  Soto  become  con 
fident  of  suece--  as  he  reviewed  his  squadrons.  Their  num! 
their  manly  vigor,  their  ardent  enthusiasm,  the  splendor  of  their 
armor,  the  admirable  horsemanship  of  lu's  cavaliers — all  tended 
to  assure  him  of  his  future  triumphs;  neither  Cortez  nor  Pizarro 
had  hri-n  halt's,,  fortunate  in  such  an  equipment;  and  our  adelan- 
tado,  as  he  surveyed  his  t<>rces.  became  impatient  of  the  hour 
when  he  should  dart  upon  the  conquest  wliich  he  air.  :  ded 

as  secure.  Compelled,  however,  to  await  the  tardy  process  of 
getting  .-hips  and  stores  in  readiness,  he  enlivened  the  interval  of 
d'-l;i  :••  ising  his  gallan's  iu  all  the  military  and  social 

amusements  in  which  they  took  delight.     While  in  Cub,, 
by  tli.    policy  of  winning  to  his  banner  the  wealth  and  enter; 
of  the  island,  he  cheerfully  ewouniged   his  knights  and  captains 
to  engage  in  all  th  <>f  chivalry  which  could  possibly 

:He  the  atl'ection-  (,f  tlie    people.      The  days  \\v;. 

utned   in   tilts  and  tour  'Mill-fights,  and  other  inanlv 

The   oJghl  .ielded   io  balls  and  masquer  td. •<.  in 

which  tlie  vi.  i..r  of  the  i.ut  too  commonly  found  hii: 

vanijiii-hed    by  tl  as  well    as   tairest    of  his   foes. 

irally  a  person  of  parade  and  pomp,  but  too 
queiitly  sacrificed  |  life  to  the  shadow  which  his 

fan.  an  entire  household  were  some 

times  exhausted   in    making  gay  the  graceful  :  its  young 

cadet     Beauty  necessarily  h  equal  ardor,  to  render  bet 


4  VASCONSELOS. 

taste  and  treasure  appropriate  auxiliaries  to  her  natural  charms  • 
and  thus  it  was  that  the  brief  interval  during  which  our  nd ven 
turers  lingered  in  the  island,  after  reaching  it  from  Spain,  ; 
like  a  dream  of  enchantment— one  of  those  fairy  tales  of  plca>uiv 
that  we  read  of  in  the  romances  of  Arabia.  But  the  time  was 
fa>t  approaching  when  these  gay  scenes  of  pleasure — the  relaxa 
tions  and  the  mimicry  of  war — were  to  give  place  to  its  absolute 
and  h;*rd  realities.  The  arrangements  of  our  adelantado  were  at 
length  nearly  completed.  The  ships  had  taken  in  most  of  their 
storeo,  and  two  of  them  had  been  already  dispatched  with  the 
view  to  a  better  exploration  of  the  coast  of  Florida,  and  in  search 
of  a  fitting  harbor  for  the  descent  of  the  armament.  But  a  few 
weeks — perhaps  days — would  elapse,  and  the  little  city  would 
sink  into  its  ancient  dullness  and  repose.  The  sad  thought  of 
separation  from  such  delights  as  had  been  enjoyed  by  all  parties, 
could  only  be  dissipated  by  renewed  efforts  at  enjoyment. 
Gloomy  reflections  were  only  to  be  banished  by  fresh  indul- 

:  and,  duly,  as  the  time  lessened  for  delay,  the  plans  and 
schemes  for  pleasure  were  hurriedly  increased.  The  young  dam 
sel-  of  Cuba  put  forth  all  their  attractions  to  arrest  the  fugitive 
hearts  whose  heroic  influences  had  but  too  much  touched  their 
own;  and  more  than  one  brave  cavalier  was  found  to  hesitate  as 
the  time  drew  nigh  for  his  departure.  His  imagination  painfully 
contrasted  the  pleasures  which  he  enjoyed,  with  the  toils  and 
perils  which  were  in  prospect.  Care  and  anxiety  naturally  fol- 
li.weil  sueh  comparisons;  and,  though  the  sports  of  the  island  were 
not  forborne  until  the  armament  had  fairly  taken  its  departure, 

iv  they  felt  to  be  more  or  less  deeply  shadowed  by  the 
consciousness  of  the  change  which  was  at  hand.  The  son-:  was 
growing  much  less  lively  than  at  first — the  tinkle  of  the  guitar 
1.  -x  frequent  and  merry — the  voice  of  the  singer  more  subdued, 
while  the  tremulous  .sighs  that  mingled  with  its  strain,  and  formed 
its  tei  and  fitting  accompaniment,  bore  evidence  quite  as 

frequently  of  the  really  saddened  fancy,  as  of  the  beguiling  artifice 
of  the  fair  musician. 

The  cares  of  Ilernando  de  Soto  were  of  a  different  character 


HKRNANDU    DK    SOTO.  6 

Though  wedded  to  one  of  the  most  lovely  of  all  the  beauties  of 
Spain, — a  princely  dame,  of  family  quite  as  distinguished  as  her 
charms, — it  was  not  the  tender  passion  which  disturbed  his 
fancies.  Love  satisfied — the  early  gush  of  youthful  ardor  lulled 
to  rest  by  gratification — and  ambition,  that  sterner  passion  which 
more  particularly  inspires  the  bosom  of  the  matured  man, 
superseding  all  others,  except  avarice,  took  possession  of  his  soul, 
swaying  it  with  little  interruption  or  interval.  He  was  only 
anxious  to  be  gone  on  his  path  of  triumph;  and  every  event 
which  was  calculated  to  delay  his  departure  was  an  additional 
source  of  anxiety,  and  even  bitterness.  Of  these  delays,  the 
causes  were  frequent.  The  very  sports  and  pleasures  which  he 
encouraged  sometimes  embarrassed  the  toils  of  his  subordinates 
while  diminishing  his  own  resources,  and  the  shows  of  reluctance 
and  hesitation  on  the  part  of  some  of  his  favorite  officers,  together 
with  certain  awkward  domestic  occurrences,  at  which  it  is  only 
necessary  that  we  should  glance  in  passing,  rendered  active  all 
that  was  irritable  and  unamiable  in  his  temper  and  deportment. 
It  is  our  fortune  to  place  him  before  our  readers  at  a  moment 
which  found  him  particularly  ruffled  by  the  misconduct  of  one 
favorite  cavalier,  and  the  expected  falling  off  of  another.  In  a 
private  chamber  of  the  Governor's  palace, — for  he  was  Governor- 
era!  of  Cuba,  as  well  as  Adelantado  of  Florida, — he  holds  in 
close  conference  one  of  his  chief  advisers.  Hernando  de  Soto 
was  at  this  time  about  thirty->i\  years  of  age,  in  the  very  prime 
of  manhood,  healthy,  vigorous,  accomplished,  graceful  in  can ' 
commanding  in  deportment;  above  the  middle  height,  of  a 
onmtenanct',  dark  and  animated,  ami  with  a  large  and  fiery  • 
Of  noble  family,  a  gentleman  "  by  all  four  descents,"  as  was 
the  phrase,  he  had  yet  gone  forth  as  a  mere  adventurer  on  the 
conquest  of  Peru.  There  he  had  proved  his  personal  meri' 
be  superior  to  those  of  birth  ;  ranking  next  to  Pi/arro  himself  in 
the  use  oflamv  and  sword,  and  particularly  distinguished  by  his 
wonderful  excellence  in  horsemanship.  He  mi^ht  have  retired  in 
B  and  atllm-nce  on  the  wraith  and  reputation  which  he  acquired  in 
*>eru,  but  that  the  master  passion  of  lus  soul  forbade  the  sacril'mt 


6  VASCONSKLOS. 

of  endowments,  of  strength,  skill  and  courage,  which  were  too 
precious  and  too  conspicuous  to  be  consigned  to  inactivity.  It 
was  a  fate  that  brought  him  once  more  from  his  native  country 
in  search  of  greater  distinctions  than  he  had  yet  acquired,  in  a 
perilous  strife  with  the  fierce  natives  that  occupied  the  melancholy 
wastes  of  Florida. 

I!  -  companion,  at  the  moment  when  we  seek  to  present  him 
to  tlie  iva<lvr,  was  a  person  of  a  very  different  mood  and  charac 
ter.  Don  Baltha/ar  de  Alvaro  was  a  cold,  dark,  and  somewhat 
ostentatious  hidalgo, — a  man  of  passions  rather  more  intense 
than  fierce, — subtle,  yet  tenacious,— capable  of  secret  vices,  yet 
equally  capable  of  concealing  them, — a  prudent  man,  in  the 
worldly  signification  of  the  term,  yet  a  profligate  ui  every  better 
sense.  But  he  outraged  few  external  proprieties.  He  had  the 
cunning  of  the  serpent,  without  the  dove's  innocence,  and  pos 
sessed  the  art  of  hiding  the  fang  and  venom  from  discovery,  even 
at  the  moment  when  he  most  harbored  and  prepared  both  facul 
ties  for  use.  He  had  been  for  ten  years  a  resident  of  the  island, 
was  a  man  of  large  estates,  and  larger  enterprises,  with  involve 
ments  more  than  corresponding  with  the  former,  and  such  as 
might  well  be  supposed  to  follow  from  a  somewhat  reckless 
indulgence  of  the  latter.  He  was  now  forty-five  years  of  age, 
and  remarkably  erect  and  vigorous,  had  frequently  distinguished 
himself  in  w*r  with  the  Indians,  and  it  surprised  nobody  in  that 
day  that  he  should  eagerly  prepare  to  embark  his  fortunes  with 
those  of  Hernando  de  Soto.  The  public  voice  imputed  to  him 
and  other  cavaliers  no  higher  ambition  in  undertaking  this  enter 
prisr  than  the  capture  of  such  a  number  of  red-men  of  the 
continent  as  would  enable  them  to  stock  with  slaves  their  vast 
landed  estates  in  Cuba.  Don  Balthazar  was  a  widower,  without 
family,  save  in  the  person  of  a  single  niece,  the  only  child  of  a 
brother,  who,  with  his  wife,  had  been  dead  for  several  years.  The 
child  ha.l  liri-n  thrown  upon  the  care  of  her  uncle  from  an  early 
period.  -  She  was  now  -rvrntrm.  with  considerable  estates  of  her 
own,  upon  which  it  wa^  >hn-\vdly  conjectured  that  her  uncle  had 
trespassed  frequently,  and  with  no  light  hand.  She  was  as  beautifu] 


A    DELICATE    QLTKST1»>X.  7 

as  young, — a  tall,  majestic  woman,  with  pule  but  highly  expressive 
features,  a  deep,  dark  eye,  full  of  tenderness  and  thought,  with 
an  expression  of  melancholy  hi  her  countenance,  which  seemed 
rather  to  heighten  than  disparage  the  eminent  beauty  of  her  face, 
We  shall  see  and  hear  more  of  her  herealb  r. 

While  the  two  cavaliers  conferred  together,  De  Soto  paced  the 
apartment  with  an  air  of  much  vexation  and  anxiety.  lie  -ho  wed 
himself  deeply  chafed  with  matters,  the  discussion  of  which  had 
evidently  occupied  for  some  time  before  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
of  the  two.  Don  Balthazar  kept  hi  a  sitting  posture;  he  watched 
the  movements  of  his  superior  with  eyes  that  sometimes  gleamed 
with  a  sinister  expression.  This  seemed  to  show  him  not  wholly 
atisfied  with  the  annoyances  of  the  other;  a  slight  smile  at 
moments  played  about  his  mouth, — but  these  were  not  allowed 
to  attract  the  notice  of  De  Soto,  who  broke  into  speech  occasion 
ally  in  regard  to  the  subject  of  his  vexation. 

"  Methinks,  Don  Balthazar,  you  make  too  light  of  this  mis- 
chief!  You  forget  that  it  was  to  the  particular  care  of  my  wife 
that  the  Count  de  Gomera  confided  his  daughter.  What  if  she 
were  a  natural  child  ?• — did  he  love  her  the  less  1  Was  she  the 
less  honored  by  the  people  under  her  father's  government  1  You 
say  that  she  had  the  mother's  weakness  !  All  women  are  weak  ; 
and  that  she  should  yield  when  man  persuades,  is  due  rather  to  her 
nature  than  to  the  viees  in  her  heart.  Her  si-curity  is  in  our  justice, 
and  if  that  tails,  she  tails  also.  But  Leonora  de  Bovadillu  should 
have  had  additional  securities  in  my  household;  and  I  hold  it  a<  an 
outrage  on  myself,  scarcely  to  be  forgiven,  with  any  atonement 
made,  that  one  of  my  own  tru-led  Li<  .-.tenants  should  have  been 
the  first  to  abuse  these  securities.  It  is  a  wr-'!;ur  done  to  mv 
wife's  honor  and  mine  own.  which;  but  r'-r  ';-il»ilities  of 

this  expedition,  would  impel  me  to  punish  the  transgressor  with 
lone,  -and  -word,  and  compel  him  to  make  the  last  atonement 
with  his  blood  !" 

"It  is  better  that  he  should  make  atonement  by  marrying  the 
girl,"  was  the  reply  of  the  other.     "  I  trow,  it  shall  bettor  pi. 
one  of  the  parties  at  least" 


8  VASCOXSKLOS. 

"  It  shall  please  them  both  !  He  shall  marry  her,  or  he  makes 
of  me  such  an  enemy  as  shall  make  death  itself  a  desirable  release 
to  liim  from  punishment." 

M  IK-  is  prepared  for  this,"  said  the  other.  "  Let  your  anger 
cool.  Saving  the  offence  to  yourself  and  your  honorable  lady, 
there  will  be  no  wrong  done  to  the  damsel.  He  will  repair  the 
breach  in  her  condition,  and  make  an  honest  woman  of  her  ;  so 
that  no  one  shall  have  reason  to  complain.  Nuno  de  Tobar  is  a 
free  gallant.  What  he  hath  done  hath  not  been  of  purpose,  but 
in  the  warmth  of  a  passion,  that  has  rather  found  its  countenance 
in  the  easy  nature  of  the  damsel  herself, — perhaps  in  her  own 

willingness, " 

Nay,  nay;  I  will  not  have  it  so,  Don  Balthazar,"  was  the 
impetuous  response  of  De  Soto ; — "  this  is  too  much  thy  irrever 
ent  way  of  speaking  where  woman  is  concerned.  The  virtue 
and  modesty  of  the  Lady  Leonora  were  above  reproach." 

"Well,  I  mean  not  harm,  your  Excellency;  we  speak  of 
women  as  we  have  found  them.  It  nas  been  your  fortune  to 
meet  only  with  such  as  are  pure  ;  but  I " 

"  Let  it  pass,  Sefior,"  was  the  interruption.  "  Thou  wilt  see 
Nuno  de  Tobar,  and  teaeh  him  my  desires — my  demands.  Let 
him  marry  the  Lady  Leonora  without  delay.  Myself  and  the 
La.lv  Isabella  shall  grace  the  nuptials,  which  shall  not  be  slighted. 
There  shall  be  state  in  the  arrangements,  such  as  becomes  the 
daughter  of  the  Count  de  Gomera ;  such  as  becomes  a  lady  in 
the  guardianship  of  my  wife.  I  will  give  him  no  countenance  till 
I  will  not  see  him  till  the  moment  when  he  unites 
hi>  hand  with  the  maiden  he  hath  wronged,  under  the  sanction  of 
th<-  Holy  Church." 

The  speaker  was  suddenly  answered  from  another  quarter, — 

"  Alas !  your  Excellency,  but  the  offender  must  again  trespass, 
and  again  rely  upon  your  generous  nature  in  the  hope  for  par 
don,"  said  the  voice  of  a  third  person,  who  entered  the  door  of 
the  chamber  at  this  moment. 

"  How  now,  Senor!  wast  thou  not  forbidden  this  presence?" 
de  nanded  De  Soto,  angrily.  The  intruder  was  the  offending 


THK   DIFFICULTY   SETTLED.  9 

cavalier,  Nuno  de  Tobar,  whose  liaison  with  the  fair  charge  of  the 
adelantado  had  formed  the  subject  of  the  preceding  conference. 
No  more  graceful  or  superb  cavalier  had  ever  found  favor  in  the 
of  woman;  and,  as  now,  with  a  softened  demeanor,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  conscious  of  offence,  and  sincerely  regretting  it,  he 
filtered  the  presence  of  his  superior,  his  frank  and  ingenuous 
countenance,  his  noble  though  modest  carriage,  insensibly  won 
upon  the  mood  of  De  Soto,  and  prepared  him  to  listen  patiently 
to  the  apologies  of  the  offender. 

"I  have  erred,"  he  continued,  "and  I  crave  pardon  for  my 
offence.  I  will  make  all  the  amendment  in  my  power.  Unhap 
pily,  I  can  make  but  little " 

"Thou  wilt  wed  with  the  Lady  Leonora?" 

"'That  were  no  atonement,  your  highness,  since  1  shall  esteem 
it  rather  a  reward  tor  -erv;  t>e  performed,  that  you  con 

fer  upon  me  a  pri/e  the  mo-t  precious  to  my  fancy.  That  the 
Lady  Leonora  has  suffered  me  to  know  what  is  the  power  which 
my  hear-  -  upon  hers,  rather  commends  her  to  my  love, 

than  lessens  the  value  which  I  set  upon  her.     Believe  me,  Senor, 
that,  in  giving  me  this  lady,  yon  oiler  the  most  powerful  mo- 
to  my  courage  and  fidelity,  in  the  progress  which  lies  before  us, 
in  the  deep  forests  of  th»-  Floridian." 

This  was  so  gracefully  said  that  De  Soto  was  disarmed.      He 

only  too  glad  of  the  opportunity,  thus  afforded  him.  by  the 

readiness  of  the  offend  dr  his  misconduct,  to  take  once 

more  into  favor  one  of  the  most  accomplished  gallants  in  his 

train. 

"I  have  been  aiiirry  with  thee,  Nuno  de  Tobar,  but  thy  heart 
has  not  meant  to  offend.  Away  with  thee.  then;  I  forgive  ti 

if  thy  lady-love  shall' so  readily  forgive  thee.  in  making  her 
ready  to  attend  thee  to  the  altar.  Thou  shalt  be  duly  warned 
of  the  time  when  it  shall  please  my  wife  to  s<  d  to 

thine.  Meanwhile,  prepare  thee  with  all  dispatch,  for  there  must 
*•«•  DO  need]e«  delay!  in  our  expedition.  Our  departure  is  at 
MMML" 

Some    farther   conference   ersued   between   the    parties,  and 


10  VASCONSELOS. 

when  the  young  cavalier  had  left  the  presence,  which  he  did  with 
out  rendering  necessary  the  commands  of  his  superior,  De  Soto 
resumed  as  follows : 

"  This  passeth  my  hope !  I  had  feared  a  struggle  with  the  hot 
passions  of  this  youth.  Few  men  tolerate  compulsion  in  affairs 
of  love ;  still  fewer  the  necessity  of  an  alliance  with  the  thing 
they  have  dishonored.  Strange  that  we  should  be  so  heedful  of 
a  stain  which  is  of  our  own  making :  but  verily  such  is  man's 
nature.  That  Nuno  de  Tobar  is  so  easy  in  this  matter, — though 
it  likes  me  as  repairing  the  shame  of  the  Lady  Leonora,  and  re- 
lieving  me  of  some  of  the  trouble  in  my  path, — yet  somewhat 
lessens  him  in  my  favor.  He  seemeth  to  me  rather  heedless  on 
the  point  of  honor." 

"  Nay,  your  excellency  is  now  unreasonable,"  was  tho  answer 
of  Don  Balthazar;  "Nuno  de  Tobar  is  a  philosopher  somewrhat 
after  my  own  fashion.  He  hath  made  no  large  calculation  upon 
the  sex ;  therefore  he  shall  not  suffer  greatly  from  experience 
hereafter.  Thou  wilt  do  well  to  suffer  him  to  see  no  diminution 
of  thy  favor.  Hast  thou  not  declared  him  thy  lieutenant-general  1 
Wilt  thou  revoke  thy  trust]  If  thou  dost,  the  offence  were  more 
grievous  than  the  command  which  weds  him  to  this  damsel. 
That  were  not  so  readily  forgiven.  Trust  me,  he  is  one  to 
resent  a  wrong  done  to  his  ambition,  where  he  might  submit  to 
one  inflicted  on  his  heart." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  was  De  Soto's  answer  to  this  suggestion, 
"  yet  I  have  resolved  that  he  goes  no  longer  as  my  lieutenant- 
general.  I  think  of  this  office  for  another.  It  shall  certainly  be 
his  no  longer.  He  shall  win  his  way  to  favor  ere  he  gains  it. 
What  thinkest  thou  of  Vasco  Porcallo  for  this  station?" 

"  Does  he  join  the  expedition  ?"  inquired  the  other. 

"  Will  such  an  appointment  fail  to  persuade  him  to  the  enter- 
{  HM  ?  Such  is  the  bait  which  I  have  passed  before  his  eyes." 

"  His  treasures  are  an  object,  surely !" 

"  He  is  brave  also,  and  full  of  spirit." 

"  But  he  is  old  and  capricious !  a  single  skirmish  with  the  red 
men  will  suffice  for  his  ambition." 


REASONS  FOR  A   CHANGE.  11 

"  Be  it  so;  but  he  shall  have  made  his  investments !  His  cafl 
Vellanoes  will  have  embarked  in  the  expedition.  These  are  not 
easily  rivalled.  He  may  retire  from  toils  which  are  too  great 
for  his  years;  but  what  shall  restore  him  his  gold  when  it  shall 
have  been  expended  in  the  enterprise?" 

De  Soto  had  made  his  calculations  shrewdly.  One  of  his 
vices — the  greatest — was  avarice.  This  impaired  the  dignity 
and  virtue  of  his  ambition.  Don  Balthazar  was  soon  persuaded 
to  soe,  in  the  argument  of  the  adelantado,  good  reasons  for  con 
finning  the.  office  of  lieutenant-general  on  the  rich  hidalgo,  Vasco 
Porcallo  de  Figueroa,  and  for  deposing  from  it  the  poor  but  gal- 
lant  young  cavalier  who  had  so  grievously  offended.  The  subject, 
however,  was  soon  dismissed,  to  give  way  to  another  of  consider 
able  interest  to  both  the  parties.  But,  for  the  discussion  of  this, 
we  reserve  ourselves  for  a  fresh  chapter,  as  it  will  need  the  pres 
ence  of  another  of  the  persons  of  our  drama. 


lAPTER    II. 

'  Go,  Philostrate, 

Stir  up  the  Athenian  youth  to  m.Triinentt ; 
Awake  the  pert  and  risible  spirit  of  mirth  ; 
Turn  melancholy  forth  to  funeral  ; 
The  pale  companion  is  not  for  our  pomp." 

"II\VE  you  sounded  these  Portuguese  brothers,  as  I  coun 
selled  you  1"  was  the  inquiry  of  De  Soto. 

The  brow  of  Don  Balthazar  slightly  darkened  as  he  answered : 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  sound  them.  They  are  suspicious  and  re 
sentful.  The  jealousies  of  our  people  have  made  them  so  ;  and 
you  have  been  able  to  oiler  them  no  position.  I  should  have 
preferred,  were  this  possible,  that  one  of  them  should  have  this 
very  office  you  propose  to  confer  upon  Vasco  Porcallo." 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question."^ 

"I  feel  it;  and  yet,  be\  olid  tin-  hope  of  profit,  which  is  felt 
by  the  commonest  arquebusicr  in  the  army,  what  is  the  motive 
lor  the  enterprise  on  tin-  i  ;irt  of  these  brothers'*  They  are  both 
young  and  nobl-s — ambitious  and  full  of  valor.  Their  follower* 
are  few,  it  is  true,  but  tin  y  will  make  good  fight ;  and  really,  the 
abilities  of  the  elder  brother,  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  are  proba 
bly  of  greater  value  than  those  of  any  of  your  cavaliers.  The 
companion  of  De  Vaca.  he  hath  traversed  all  these  wilds  of  Flori 
da,  and  probably  knoweth  all  the  secrets  of  which  De  Va<;a  made 
such  glorious  boast  and  mystery.  Besides,  he  speaks  ami  un- 
iiids  the  languii'-re  of  'he  natives;  an  advantage  of  which  it 
is  difficult  to  measure  the  importance.  Of  his  valor  and  con 
duct  we  have  sufficient  testimony  of  our  own  eyes,  even  if  the 
evidence  of  other  witne.ss.s  were  wanting;  De  Vac.a  himse'f 
spoke  of  him  as  one  of  the  most  prudent  and  valiant  of  his 
cavaliers." 


AS    UNPLEASANT   SUGGESTION.  II 

"  All  this,  I  wot,"  answered  the  other  impatiently,  •'  but  what 
&f  thy  mission?  what  mean  they  by  the  reserve  which  seeks 
me  not,  and  the  change  of  mood  which  makes  them  declare 
themsel\v>  doubtful  whether  or  not  to  proceed  upon  tin-  en 
terprise  ?" 

"  They  have  spoken  somewhat  of  the  evident  dislike  and 
jealousies  of  certain  of  our  knights,  to  say  nothing  of  the  rude 
disfavor  of  the  common  soldiers/1 

"This  alone  should  show  them  how  impossible  it  would  be  to 
give  them  command  over  our  Spaniards.  Are  they  not  satisfied 

of  thi>  r 

"Yet  doth  it  also  afford  sufficient  reason  why  they  should  he 
unwilling  to  proceed  in  any  enterprise  with  companions  so   un- 
onable,  for  whom    they  will  peril  life  and  fortune,  and  from 
whom  they  can   expect  nothing  in  return." 

"And  thou  hast  gathered  nothing  further  from  thy  inquiries 
into  this  matter  ?  Hath  nothing  occurred  to  thv  own  thought 
and  observation  to  add  foive  to  the  difficulty  which  thou  ha-t 
so  clearly,  and  which  thou  hold'-t  so  weighty?  Bethink 
thee.  Don  Balthazar,  fast  thou  not  a  niece,  a  damsel  lovely  as 
any  that  ever  blossom. -d  in  bright  Castile?  The^e  knights  of 
Portugal  have  looked  upon  the  maiden  with  eyes  of  love  ?  I  la! 
\*\  not  BO  ?  I  )oxt  thou  not 

The  brow  of  the  person  addressed  again  darkened  as  this 
D  met  h»>  ears,  His  lips  might  be  seen  more  elo^-lv  to 
contract  together.  He  waa  about  to  speak  when  the  rustling  of 
silken  garments  at  the  entrance  announced  u  new  vMtor;  and 
the  door  Opened,  a  moment  after,  for  the  admi^ion  of  the  lady 
of  the  adelantado.  Both  '  .pproachcd  h.  ap 

peared,  with  -h"\\~,  of  fh«-  n 

"Am  I  permitted  to    attend   the<c   solemn   councils?"  wa*  the 
inquiry  of  the  noble  lady  M  -he  pa-ed  into  the  apartment  ;   tier 
voice  .oftly  attuned  to  the  playful  question,  and   her  lij.^ 
with  the  -wertcvt  Millies. 

"'I"    one    who   BO    admirably    unit.  ^   the  wNdom   of  the 
with  the    virtues   of  the  other  •  •  rength  and  dignity  of 


14  VASCONSELOS. 

manhood  with  the  grace  and  loveliness  of  woman — counsel  her 
self  must  willingly  incline  her  ear.  We  were  foes  to  wisdom 
did  we  refuse  to  hearken  to  the  words  of  her  best  favorite." 

The  stately  compliment,  so  perfectly  Spanish,  was  from  the 
lips  of  Don  Balthazar,  upon  whom  the  lady  smiled  most 
sweetly,  not  wholly  insensible,  it  would  seem,  to  the  honeyed 
flattery. 

•\v,  verily/'  exclaimed  De  Soto,  who  beheld  the  expres 
sion  in  her  fare;  "now,  verily,  hath  this  politician  won  thy 
whole  heart  by  the  silliest  speech.  He  is  like  the  cunning  knave 
who  possesseth  counterfeit  castellanoes,  who,  knowing  their  just 
worthlessness,  yet  circulates  them  for  the  value  which  they  de 
rive  only  from  the  ignorance  of  him  who  receives.  He  hath  put 
his  copper  trinket  upon  thec,  ami  will  look  for  the  golden  one  in 
return,  even  as  we  look  to  our  Floridian  savage  for  the  precious 
metals,  in  exchange  for  others,  which  are  as  dear  to  his  eyes,  as 
despicable  in  ours.  Is  it  not  so,  my  lady?  And  yet,  if  thou  art 
thus  easily  put  upon,  what  shall  be  my  security,  leaving  the 
government  of  Cuba  in  thy  hands  T 

"Oh!  fear  nothing,  my  lord;  I  shall  ere  long  become  schooled 
in  all  the  subtleties  of  thy  politicians,  so  that  thy  government 
shall  have  no  wrong  during  thy  absence.  Be  not  deceived,  mv 
good  lord,  in  the  supposed  estimate  which  our  sex  makes  of  the 
flatteries  of  thine.  We  receive  the  coin  that  thou  offerest,  not 
because  we  overvalue  it  or  esteem  it  very  highly,  but  simply  as 
we  know  that  it  is  quite  too  commonly  the  most  precious  which 
ye  have  to  offer.  Were  sincerity  one  of  the  virtues  of  the  man, 
we  should  perhaps  never  listen  to  his  flatteries  ;  but  it  were  un 
reasonable  to  reject  his  false  tokens,  when  we  know  that  such 
constitute  his  whole  treasure;  and  we  receive  the  tribute  of  his 
lips  only  in  the  absence  of  all  better  securities  lodged  within  his 
heart.  It  is  something  of  an  acknowledgment,  in  behalf  of  our 
authority,  that  he  is  solicitous  to  show  the  devotion  which  he 
has  not  always-  the-  nobleness  to  feel." 

''  !Ta!  Senor  Balthazar,  we  gain  nothing  by  this  banter.  Our 
lady  knows  that  our  gold  is  copper  It  is  for  such  only  that 


THE    ADELANTADO'S    WIFE.  16 

•he  takes  it.  Shrewdly  spoken,  by  my  faith;  and  yet  it  might 
be  as  shrewdly  said,  in  reply,  why  receive  the  counterfeit  at  all 
Knowing  so  well  its  worthlcssness,  unless  it  were  that  the  de 
pendency  of  the  one  sex  upon  the  other,  rendered  any  gift  of 
the  man  sufficiently  precious,  (though  worthless  in  itself,)  in  the 
eyes  of  the  woman/' 

**  Now  out  upon  thee  for  a  heathen  savage !  Thou  art  not 
satisfied  with  shaming  Don  Balthazar  with  his  tribute,  but  thou 
must  shame  me  with  the  pleasure  I  feel  in  receiving  it  at  his 
hands.  I  would  thou  wert  fairly  on  thy  march  among  the  Flori 
dian,  that  I  might  play  the  tyrant  in  thy  government  of  Cuba, 
to  the  peril  of  thy  insolent  sex !  But  proceed  to  thy  councils, 
if  there  be  nothing  unfit  for  the  ears  of  the  woman.  I  have 
I  to  sound  the  depths  of  all  thy  policy  in  other  respects, 
since  I  am  to  play  sovereign  in  thy  place  hereafter." 

The  noble  lady,  speaking  playfully,  had,  in  the  meanwhile, 
with  a  <_rrace  peculiarly  her  own,  sunk  down  upon  the  divan  of 
orange,  from  which  Don  Baltha/ar  had  risen  to  receive  her.  Few 
persons,  not  actually  born  in  the  purple,  were  so  well  endowed 
to  honor  it,  and  to  wield  authority  with  sweetness.  The  daughter 
of  Don  Pedrarias  Davila,  a  man  distinguished,  unhappily,  quite 
as  much  by  his  cruel  treatment  of  the  famous  Vasco  Nunez  de 
Balboa,  the  discoverer  of  the  Pacific,  as  by  his  own  deeds  and 
su<-ee--e<.  Isabella  de  B< >badilla.  inherited  the  pride  ftod  dignity 
of  her  father's  character,  without  tho>e  taints  of  vindictiveness 
and  pa— ion  which  had  rendered  him  odious  among  his  inferiors. 
She  |>n--M--«.ed  that  happy  prudence  which  never  forgets  what 

is  due  to  thf  humanities  and  ihc  atleetions  in  Hi,-  moment  <>f 
power  and  good  fortune.  ^  wiser  than  the  irrcater  num 

ber  of  her  sex  ;  calm  in  the  hour  of  trial,  full  of  provident  fore 
thought,    with  a  mind  quite  equal   to    the   government    about  to 
devolve   upon   her,  and  with    a    heart    devoted  to  that  lord  who 
about  to  leave  her  for  a  pn.tra*1.  ilous  pro 

gress,  to  which  he  was  induced  l»y  the  Ji:ir|,-  persuasion*  of  am 
bition.  He  had  found  her  an  admirable  councilor  and  ally,  in 
taking  his  preparations  for  the  expedition ;  and,  in  penetrating 


16  VASCONSELOS. 

his  chamber  of  council  without  a  summons,  she  was  yet  satisfied, 
from  past  experience,  that  her  presence  in  such  a  place  was 
never  wholly  unacceptable  or  unprofitable !  When,  therefore, 
she  declared  her  pleasure  to  remain,  unless  the  topics  under 
discussion  should  prove  ungracious  in  the  hearing  of  her  sex,  the 
ready  answer  of  her  husband  entreated  her  to  do  so,  whilst 
assuring  her  against  the  exception  which  she  expressed. 

"Nay,  Isabella,"  said  he;  "it  particularly  concerns  thy  rex, 
that  of  which  we  are  to  speak,  and  much  of  what  has  l>een 
spoken.  Know  then,  in  the  first  place,  that  thou  art  to  prepare 
thy  lovely  handmaid,  the  damsel  Leonora,  for  her  nuptials  with 
Nuiio  de  Tobar." 

"  Thou  hast  then  adjusted  that  matter  ?"  said  the  lady,  with  a 
grave  accent  and  demeanor. 

"  It  is  settled,  and  without  anger  or  difficulty.  It  is  for  thee  to 
decide  upon  the  hour  of  the  bridal.  Let  it  be  soon,  for  we  must 
have  dispatch,  and  advise  with  the  damsel  ere  the  day  be  sped. 
But  there  is  yet  another  matter  connected  with  thy  sex  wlu'ch 
troubles  me,  and  prevents  my  purpose.  Their  mischievous  influ 
ence  hath  been  at  work  upon  my  bravest  cavaliers.  Thou 
knowest  these  two  young  knights  of  Portugal.  I  need  not  tell 
thee  of  their  worth,  their  valor,  and  the  great  importance  to  the 
expedition  of  the  elder  brother,  Philip  de  Yasconselos,  who  hath 
alreadv  sped  <>ver  all  the  territory  of  the  Floridian,  and  is  fami 
liar  with  the  heathen  speech  of  its  people.  Now,  it  so  happens 
that  these  two  young  gallants  grow  indifferent  to  the  enterprise. 
Thev  have  held  themselves  somewhat  aloof  from  me  of  late,  and 
words  have  been  heard  to  fall  from  their  lips,  which  declare  their 
doubts  whether  they  will  accompany  the  expedition,  as  was  their 
purpose  when  they  joined  our  armament  at  Seville." 

"And  canst  thou  riot  guess  the  reason  f«r  this  change  of  pur- 
POM'  :"  demanded  the  lady,  with  a  smile. 

"  Ay.  verily  !  Thy  smile  tells  me  that  I  ;.-M  right  in  ascribing 
their  fickleness  of  purpose  to  the  persuasions  jim1  artifices  of  thy 
sex.  Our  grave  Sefior,  Don  haltha/ar  de  Alvaro,  will  have  it 
In*,  only  to  the  jealousies  of  our  Spaniards,  with  whom 


DISAGRKKMKNT    <>F    OPINION.  17 

men  of  Portugal  find  but  little  favor.  Something  there  may  be 
ID  this,  doubtle88 ;  l>ut,  I  trow,  it  would  never  be  sufficient  to 
Midi  \oung  gallants,  known  for  their  bravery,  and 
ambitious  of  wealth  and  distinction,  wen-  it  not  fur  the  charms  of 
thi-  Lady  Olivia,  his  fair  niece, " 

"It  may  be  that  thoii  art    right    in   thy    conjee:  Dofl 

r>altha/ar,  interrujiting  the  speaker,  his  brow  again  darkening  as 
if  with  displeasure  ;  u  but  it  will  profit  them  little  that  they  turn 
their  eyes  in  the  direction  of  my  nieee.  Olivia  de  Alvaro  k 
scarcely  the  proper  game  tor  either  of  these  knights  of  Portugal."' 

"And  wherefore,  Seilor  r  was  the  quick  inquiry  of  I)«»na 
Isabella.  ''These  are  brave  and  honorable  gentlemen,  both;  of 
— as  we  know — a  family  as  noble  as  any  in  Portugal.  They 
have  not  wealth,  it  is  true,  but  they  have  the  qualit: 

•  1  enterprise.  vJiich  in  these  days   of  l(lold 

en    Cathay  where    achieve    wealth,    and    make    obscure 

name*  famous.      1   see   not   \\\\\   you   should   so  sternly   n 

:  the  devotion  wliich  they  si-em  disposed   to  otU-r  to   \«.ur 

Don  Iialtha/ar  trod  the  floor  in  a  stern  sih-nce.  while  the  Ade- 
lantado  took  up  the  words, — 

"Thou  ha-t  forgotten  another  matter,  my  lady,  which  seenieth 
to  me  of  no  small  import  in  this  ease.      If  I  mistake  not  greatly, 
the  drci-i..n  of  the  Lady  Olivia  herself  will    surely    be    m< 
diligent    than    that    of  her  guardian,    in   relation   to   these   \oung 
Knights  of  Portugal." 

"  But  I  urn  her  guardian,  your  excellency,  and  my  niece  is  but 
'M. " 

"Seventeen  is  a  goodly  age  for  female  judgment,  Sefior,  in 
Htlairs  of  the  aflectaons,*1  waa  th«-  am  the  lady.  "But 

thoii  surely  wilt  not  oppose  the  aiithorit\  of  the  guardian  to   the 
when  th.  iij.oi)  a  [•  f  whoxt. 

worth  and  tioblene-^  th.-n-  can  be  no  <ju<-s:' 

'Ah!    but  I  know  i  tin-  quick  reply  of  Don  \\i\\. 

f  a/ar.  not — I  believe  r.ot — that   the  affections  of  ' 

to  either  of  these  Portuguese  adventurers," 


18  VASCONSELOS. 

"  Deceive  not  thyself,  SeSor,"  said  the  Lady  Isabella.  "  Men 
are  seldom  the  best  judges  of  such  mutters,  especially  where 
they  are  grave  senators  and  busy  politicians.  You  have  quite 
too  many  concerns  to  demand  your  study — too  many  cares  ol 
business  and  fortune  to  suffer  you  to  give  much  heed  to  the  ten 
dency  of  a  young  and  feminine  heart.  1  claim  to  understand  it 
better,  and  I  tell  thee,  Senor,  that  if  ever  woman  loved  cavalier, 
with  all  her  soul,  and  with  all  her  strength,  the.n  doth  Olivia 
de  Alvaro  love  this  elder  knight  of  Portugal,  whom  they  call 
Philip  de  Vasconselos." 

"  I  believe  it  not !  You  are  deceived,  Lady  Isabella.  I  am 
sure  that  such  is  not  the  case.  But  if  it  were,  I  should  be  false  to  the 
duties  I  have  undertaken  to  suffer  her  inclinations  to  have  sway 
in  this.  This  Philip  dc  Vasconselos  may  have  his  virtues ;  yet 
what  is  he  but  a  beggarly  adventurer,  who  has  squandered  his 
birthright  in  wanderings  where  the  better  wisdom  has  always 
succeeded  in  acquiring  it  ?" 

"  Not  always,  Scfior,  unless  old  proverbs  fail  us.  The  best 
wisdom  is  but  too  commonly  the  last  to  secure  the  smiles  of  For- 
tune.  Have  not  your  poets  made  her  feminine,  and  with  two 
fold  sarcasm  made  her  caprices  to  resemble  ours?  Say  they 
not,  that  he  is  most  apt  to  win  her  favor  who  less  does  for,  and 
less  deserves  it;  and  shape  they  not  their  sarcasm  in  such  wise 
as  to  salve  the  hurts- of  self-esteem,  by  recognizing  the  propriety 
of  that  favor  which  provides  for  him  who  would  never  be  able, 
of  his  own  wits,  to  provide  for  himself]  You  shall  do  no  slander 
to  this  knight  of  Portugal,  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  who,  verily,  is 
a  man  of  thought  as  well  as  of  valor.  I  have  enjoyed  his  wis 
dom  with  a  rare  delight,  and  if  his  valor  keep  any  rate  of  pac« 
with  his  judgment,  he  should  be  a  famous  leader  in  such  adven- 
turv  as  that  on  which  ye  go.  For  the  younger  In-other,  I  can 
scarcely  ^sj.eak  BO  t;i\orably.  lie  seemeth  at  once  less  wise  and 

more  presuming.     Be  speaks  as  one  confident  in  himself*  and 'I 

should  deem  him  quite  as  rash  and   ill  advised    as  valiant; — nay 
more,  he  hath  the  manner  of  a  man  whom  small  griefs  uni 
ably   inflame, — who    is  irritable    of  mood,  suspicious  of  those 


THE    Dl>YK    AM)    11IK    FALCON.  19 

about  him,  jealous  of  tlu-  good  fame  of  his  compair  .ons,  and  one 

of   too  little  faith  in  others  to  IK-  altogether   worthy    of  faith  him- 

1'.    •  '•   ia  :••:  of  him   that    we   m-'-d    to  apeak.      He   hath,  I 

fancy,  hut  little  chance   of  BUOC6M  with  our  fair  cousin,   though  it 

.  Meiit  he  hath  a  passion  tor  lier  quite  as  earnest  as  that  of  his 

elder  In-other." 

-  \\iuu    wyest  thou,  Seiior?"  demanded  De  Soto,  as  his  wife 

led. 

"  What  .should  I  say,  your  excellency,"  replied  the  latter, 
somewhat  doggedly, — u  save  that  my  niece  is  in  my  keeping  ? 
She  \sill  not,  I  think,  gainsay  my  judgment  in  this  matter  l>\ 
opposing  it  with  her  own." 

"  Will  >he  QOtT"  demanded  the  lady,  with  a  smile.  "We 
shall  S  BOr,  \\h<>  Letter  understands  the  heart  of  woman. 

Bethink  you.  it  is  upon  no  ordinary  matter  that    \ou  a*k   her   to 
forego  her  judgment.     Tlie  late  of  woman  is  in  the  resolve  which 
-hail  make  for  or  against  her  heart.      Her  whole  life  is  in  the 
love  which  she  feels;   and    ti  1.  or   this   possessed,    d< 

mines  her  existence.      She  hath  a  ran-   instinct   which  tearhes  her 

all  this.     Submissive  in  all  other  respects,  -he  h.-iv  grows  i 
lute  and  >tr*.ii^;  and  she  win  m  you  kfiew  fjr  mat  ->  the 

dove  only.  >hall,  wlieii  the  heart  demand-   sueli   will  and  cou; 

.me    the    tierce    coinage    of  the    llilenn.       Believe    it    or 
Olivia  de  A  Ivaro  loves  this   knight  of  Portugal  ;   and   so   lo\ 

-hall  not  say  nay   to   her  desire,   and    find    ii"    re->i->tauee    lo 
your  will." 

"It  mav  lie."  \\a-  Tru-  answer  of  the  other,  his  }»n»w  still  dark 
ened.  ln;t  a  >inister  smile  at  th«'  -ame  moment  curling  his  lips, 
thoi.  :.-eptil)le  to  tl,  it  him.  That  lie 

i  l)ey«md  liix  wont.  \\a-  still  apparent. 

r    r,.i'-l:  -his    thin- 

You  \\ill  do  well  to  l,,.;ir  it    calmly.      Our  lady  is 
surely    right.      The    heart    of  thy  niece    liath    made    its   ehoir. 

thai  Philip  de  Va-con-elos  hath  re-olved  on  his;  and 
thou   wilt    he  wi-e   to    put    on    a  friendly  countenance   when  the} 


20  7ASCOXSELOS. 

come  to  doc-Ian-,  their  desires.     Thou  wilt  scarcely  find  a  noblei 

cavalier  in  all  Spain  upon  whom  to  bestow  her  fortune." 

"And  will  you  that  I  should  encourage  a  passion  which  will 
tend  to  bailie  thy  <>\vn  desires  f  demanded  Don  Balthazar. 

•  ll..\\-  so. —  what  meanest  thdi?"  was  the  inquiry  of  De  Soto. 
who  looked  the  alarm  which  he  ivalU  felt. 

"See'st  thou  not  thai  the  bridal  of  Philip  de  Vasconselos  with 
Olivia  de  Alvaro  is  conclusive  against  his  progress  with  the  e.\|»e- 
dition  ?  With  her  estates  in  Cuba  to  occupy  his  thoughts, — with 
her  wealth  in  which  to  luxuriate, — wherefore  should  he  incur  the 
peril  of  the  Floridian  enterprise?" 

"  And  wherefore  should  my  lord  himself  incur  such  peril,  Senor 
Balthaxar?"  was  the  quick  and  energetic  reply  of  the  lady. 
11  Hath  he  in  it  estates  in  Cuba,  a  government  to  demand  his  care, 
and  wealth  enough  with  which  to  procure  all  the  luxuries  of  the 
island  .'  Yet  he  will  leave  all  these — he  will  leave  me,  but  lately 
IMS  newly-wedded  bride — and  one,  I  trow,  not  wholly  without  hold 
upon  his  heart — and  go  forth  upon  adventures  of  incomparable 
peril.  But  this  belongs  to  the  passion  of  a  knightly  ambition — a 
<:enerous  impatience  of  the  dull  paces  of  the  common  life; — an 
•  •rand  noble  appetite  after  conquest,  and  the  glory  which  it 
bring^l  Of  this  same  temper,  seems  to  me  the  ambition  of  this 
knight  <>f  Portugal,  who  hath  been  regardless  of  wealth  only  as 
he  hath  been  h'-edful  of  honor, — and  whose  pride  it  is  rather  to 
win  a  glorious  name,  than  a  golden  habitation.  Thou  shall  not 
disparage  this  que>f,  Senor,  since  it  is  one  which  is  ever  precious 
in  tin-  sight  of  a  generous  knighthood." 

"You  speak  it  bravely,  my  lady;  but  shall  not  persuade  me 
that  this  knight  of  Portugal  would  wed  my  niece  only  to  depart 
from  her.  He  shall  need  some  time  after  the  nuptiaN.  '-re  his 
ambition  shall  asse-t  itself.  His  love  of  distinction  will  doubt 
less  bring  him  after  the  adelantado — but  with  slow  footsteps,  and 
when  his  lance  shall  be  no  longer  needful  to  success." 

"This  is.  indeed,  a  matter  to  be  thought  on,  Don  Baltha/ar," 
was  the  reply  of  De  Soto,  looking  gravely,  and  evidently  touched 


FAMILY    TKol'HI.KS.  21 

by  the  sug£e>ti«»n  of  tin-  other.      "There  is  surely  reason  in  what 
thou  hast  spoken.     I  had  not  thought  of  this  before." 

'llu-  interruption  uf  the  Lady  Isabella  was  almost  instantaneous. 

"Nor  must  you  think  of  it  now,  my  Lord,  as  a  thing  which 
should  move  you  to  encourage  Don  Balthazar  in  his  hostility  to 
the  affections  of  his  niece.  Doubtless,  the  loss  of  this  young 
knight  will  be  somewhat  felt  by  you  in  this  expedition.  1  can 
easily  understand  the  value  of  such  a  lance,  and  that  which  is  due 
to  his  particular  experience  with  the  Floridian.  But  shall  these 
things  justify  a  wrong  done  to  fond  hearts  that  merit  only  fond 
ness  t  Are  the  alfections  of  so  sweet  and  tender  a  woman  as 
Olivia  de  Alvaro  to  be  set  at  naught,  because  of  thy  or  my  am 
bition  ?  Let  us  be  just  and  generous,  my  lord.  Give  these 
young  people  way!  Let  them  be  happy,  if  they  may,  in  mutual 
love.  'Hut  they  do  love,  I  see, — I  am  sure.  It  is  a  strange 
blindness  of  Senor  Baltha/.ar  which  will  not  suffer  him  to  E 

;  —  a  strange  blindness  which  refuses  to  see  in  this  young 
knight,  a  noble  and  a  fitting  husband  for  his  niece.  If  we  may 
not  move  him  to  be  friendly  to  their  desires,  let  us  not  encourage 
him  in  an  opposition  which  I  foresee  will  be  only  as  fruitless  as 
•nwi 

"  Fruitless'/'  exclaimed  Don  Balthazar,  with  a  somewhat  bitter 
anile,  "W«  shall  see.  We  shall  Bee!" 

"Hear  me  yet  farther,  Don  Hernan,  my  gracious  lord. 
Then-  is  one  process  by  which  to  test  tin-  strength  of  this  young 
knight'*  pas-inn.  If  his  love  shall  falter  in  the  struggle  with  his 
ambition,  then  I  shall  rather  glad  me  that  Olivia  goe>  tar  from 

_  .i'U.  You  owe  to  these  good  people  <,f  Cuba  >om«- 
ceremonials  ere  taking  your  departure.  There  needs  a  still  more 
imposing  display  of  your  power,  at  once  to  rvward  their  devo 
tion,  and  to  confirm  your  authority,  during  your  absence,  in  my 
feeble  hands.  Order  a  splendid  tournament  for  an  early  day 
preceding  your  departure.  Let  there  be  prizes  for  valor  to  win, 
and  beauty  to  bestow.  Span-  nothing  that  shall  kindle  to  the 
utmost  the  chivalrous  ambition  in  vour  followers;  and  let  all 
tilings  lie  done,  as  it  were,  to  furnish  a  foretaste  of  the  treasures 


22  VASCONSELOS. 

and  the  achievement-*  which  await  the  valiant  among  the  heathea 
There  shall  be  sharp  trials  of  skill  and  strength  among  your 
knights,  and  those  of  Portugal  shall  not  be  wanting.  Build  upon 
this  for  the  temptations  which  are  to  confirm  them  in  their  first 
purpose  of  exploring  and  conquering  the  golden  cities  of  the 
Floridian." 

"  Now  hath  Dona  Isabella  counselled  truly,  as  hath  ever  been 
her  wont,"  said  Don  Balthazar,  eagerly  seizing  upon  a  Mig^cstioii 
which  promised  somewhat,  however  vaguely,  to  assist  in  extri 
cating  him  from  a  difficulty  which,  it  was  evident  to  his  superior, 
was  one  of  unusual  annoyance. 

"Both  of  these  brothers,"  he  continued,  "cherish  an  eager  anx 
iety  for  distinction  in  tilt  and  tourney.  Thus  far,  they  have  suf 
fered  no  sports  of  this  character  to  escape  them;  and  one  which 
shall  make  an  event  in  Cuba  long  to  be  remembered  with  wonder 
and  delight,  shall  surely  reawaken  in  their  bosom  all  their  most 
earnest  appetites  for  fame.  Let  them  but  draw  the  eyes  of  all 
cavaliers  upon  themselves  in  this  tourney,  and  they  shall  scarcely, 
through  very  shame,  be  enabled  to  escape  the  necessity  of  joining 
in  the  enterprise. 

"It  shall  be  done,"  said  De  Soto,  with  the  air  of  a  man  sud 
denly  relieved  from  his  anxieties.  "Thou  hast  counselled,  my 
lady,  with  as  just  a  knowledge  of  our  sex  and  its  vanities,  as  of 
thine  own  and  its  sympathies.  And  now  for  the  plan  of  this 
tournament.  We  shall  need  for  this,  not  only  thy  help,  Sefior 
Balthazar,  but  that  also  of  that  scape-grace,  Nuno  de  Tobar. 
We  have  taken  him  to  favor  at  the  proper  season." 

The  difficulties  of  the  discussion  were  fairly  at  an  end.  The 
lans  for  the  future  festivities  need  not  call  for  consideration 

DOW. 


1M. 


'She's  safe  enough  ut  home, 
And  ha3  but  hall"  her  \viu*,  us  I  rrmr 
Hie  devil  cannol  jugple  her  from  uiy  castikiy. 

THE  dnv  wu  consumed  t>cf'>re  Don    Balthazar  de  Alvaro  was 
r>'lea-ed  from  his  duties  near    the  •  :    the  adclantado.      It 

i:ad  l.een,  with  the  former,  a  day  of  protracted  toil,  nut  without 
certain  accompanying  tortures.  The  tortures,  however.  did  not 
exactly  follow  from  tin-  toil.  On  tlu-  contrary,  he  could  have 

:ily  without  th 
noyaiuv   or    inconvenience,    l>ut   with   an  ela-ti»-it\  a- 

:i«>n,  the  natural  coiiscijuence  of  his  dcrj>  >\mj>atliy  in  the 

•  .  f  ih.-  «  xpcditioii.      His    tortuivs    iK-lungftl    nitirel\   to  a 
sulijivt.  tin-  aniioyaiiri's  of  which,  to  him.  wi-ro  not  l»y  any 

•-•d  liy    De  SotO  OF  his  noble   lady.      Little    did   they  fancy 
the  dct-p  and  jn-ciiliar  discju'n-t  which  Don  Haltha/ar  M 
any  alluskm  '••  the  jirul»al»ility  <A*  his  niece's   inarriaiie.      Had  the 
lover  IHVII  any  other  than  the  knight  of  Portugal  —  had    h- 
tlu-    ni.ixt    uiiexi  -i  j.ti-  naMe    j.erson  in   the  world  —  tin-  ca-e  would 
riot  have  been  altered.     He  would  still  have  found  a  Mern  1. 
in  the  uncle  of  the  lady,  for  which  no  reasons  of  ordinary  policy 
could   possibly  account. 

But  Don  Baltha/ar  had  the    strength   of  will  to  cot 
hi-  Hiperior,  as  from  all  others,  the  degree  of  concern  which  he 
felt  in  relation   to    thi-  Mil-ject.      11  |    indurate.! 

nature    knew    well    how    to   cloth-  \ternally,  in  t! 

ment-  indirterence.  or  of  a   pu!  .t!.\  .      l'»;.t 

he  surti-n-d  not  the  !e--  ir.  ,nd,  with  the  i  :u    the 

restraint-    of  that    companion-hip  throughout  the  dav,  which  had 
lings,  they  l.n.ke   out    in   expressions  of  cor- 

9 


24  VASCONSELOS. 

responding  force  with  the  pressure  that  had  been  laid  upon  them, 
Let  us  follow  him  as,  after  a  long  conference  with  the  adelantado, 
he  took  his  way,  at  the  approach  of  evening,  toward  the  inviting 
solitude  of  his  own  habitation. 

This  was  situated  in  one  of  the  loneliest,  as  well  as  the  loveli 
est,  of  the  suburbs  of  the  infant  city.  The  retreat  was  one  in 
which  love  and  ambition  might  equally  delight  to  meditate  ;  the 
one  on  human  sympathies,  which  are  always  sweetly  associated 
with  the  beauty  and  innocence  of  nature — the  other  upon  proud 
hope  and  prospects  in  the  future,  which  present  possessions 
princely  and  beautiful,  might  naturally  suggest  to  the  fierce  will 
and  the  grasping,  eager  temperament.  The  site  of  the  habitation 
of  Don  Balthazar  was  happily  found  upon  a  gentle  eminence, 
which  allbrded  equal  glimpses  of  the  city  and  the  sea.  Its  h<>ri 
zon  was  only  circumscribed  by  its  trees.— fruitage  and  flowers  in 
an  excess  of  which  the  best  taste,  in  a  warm  climate,  would  find 
it  difficult  to  complain.  The  air  that  breathed  balm  ever  through 
its  atmosphere — the  breeze  swelling  at  frequent  periods  from  its 
tributary  seas — the  chirp  of  innocent  insects,  and  the  song  of 
••«!,  but  never  wandering  birds — were  all  suggestive  of  that 
condition  of  the  dolce  far  nicnte  of  the  fatal  tyranny  of  which  tne 
:«nd  moralist  dilate  in  warning  exhortation  ever,  yet  tc 
which  they  are  always  most  ready  to  submit  with  pleasure,  and 
to  remember  with  regret  and  yearning.  Fruits  of  every  luscious 
variety,  flowers  of  the  most  golden  and  glorious  hues  and  per 
fumes,  vines  and  leaves  of  all  most  grateful  descriptions,  harmo 
ni/.ed  with  this  happy  empire,  where  the  passions,  whether  droop 
ing  or  triumphant,  might  here  find  themselves  at  home.  The 
shadiest  palms,  and  other  trees  of  equal  verdure  and  fragrance, 
compensated  for  the  absence  of  grandeur  and  sublimity,  which, 
in< 1 1 -I'd,  must  have  been  inconsistent  with  the  peculiar  moral  of 
such  an  abode.  The  attractions  of  this  sweet  seclusion  were  not 
wholly  confined  to  the  gifts  and  attributes  of  nature.  The  hand 
of  art  had  been  made  tributary,  in  high  degree,  to  her  virgin 
wants.  The  sin-  of  the  Lady  <  Mivia,  who  had  left  it  for  his  child, 
in  the  keeping  of  his  brother,  had  made  it  after  the  fashion  of  hit 


DON     BALTHAZAB'fl    KKTKKAT. 

own  nature,  which  was  meek  in  its  d>  i    ;i    worshipper  of 

tin1  graceful,  the  peaceful  and  tin.-  beautiful.  The  luxuries  <>f  such 
an  aU.de  were  doubly  refiiu-d  and  spirituali/ed  to  tin-  soul  of 
ta^te,  by  the  sweet  ivpo-e,  the  delicious  security  which  hun_ 
with  a  veil,  over  the  partial  solitude.  At  a  little  distance  lay  1  he 
white  dwellings  of  tin*  infant  city,  the  voices  of  its  daily  toil  and 
struirgie  rising  only  as  a  taint  and  pleasant  murmur.  mo>t  like 
the  sweet  chiding  of  distant  billows  ona  rocky  shore.  Tin-  sea.  at  a 
like  distance,  had  also  a  pleasant  music  for  the  dwellers  in  this 
il  home.  \\here,  through  long  and  complicated  avenues  of 
uc-t  foliag*'.  the  1'oiid  and  contemplative  spirit  might  mak- 
Way,  withjust  enough  of  the  OOOfldouanew  of  life  li.r  pleasure, 
and  not  enough  of  its  toils  and  apprehensions  for  anxiety  or 
care. 

Here.  then,  with  tew  attendants,  and  but  one  companion,  the 
Mil. tie.  the  mercenary,  ard  sleepless  politician,  Haltha/ar  de  Al- 
\aro.  made  his  abode.  Hither  lie  took  his  way,  \\ith  slo 

•    than    was    hi-    \\.>nt.   after   separating    frj'ja   i'.c  adelanta<lo. 

Hi-  had  run  a  sort  of  gauntlet  of  inquiry,  a-  h.  :  fnnuthc 

«-f    I)e    SotO,  and    made   hi-  wax    throng]  by 

which  his   mood   had  undergone   no   peculiar  B¥  _.      I  Jut  k 

admiraMe  to  witiu-ss  the   Mivngth  <>f  a    much   e\eivi>cd  ami 

well-trained  \\ill.  in  subduing   the    outbreak-    of  a    temper  which 

had  suffered  ..  :  painful  pro/ocation-  throughout   the 

day.     lie  could  smi!(-  graciously  as  he  replied  deferentially  to 

i  wanting   in    a    certain  kind   of  smile,  \\lieii  he 

tin-   iiiijuirii-s  of   his  inferior.      The   necessities  an-! 

•  -to  required  much  l'  ilie    ai"  -ilia- 

tion  on  th"  part  of  hi-  I  >  >:i    l»altha/.ir  \\ 

.icy  \\hi  •:  'hat  noli.'  humble  t- 

incapable  ,,/  harm  in  »  :     .  tor   u-e  in 

tain  peri"d».       |i,    ;r.,\,  r  ,,1  the  interval  b.'tueen  tlu- ilwrllii.. 
tin-  adelantado  and  his  owi,.  p  in    his   pro- 

without     bet  rasing     h!  n     t«.     the     m<.-t    worti 

:!<Jf. 
It    Wits    nlily     \\lleJI     he     r.-aell"d     tile     ^eClire     -llelter     of    hi 

2 


26  VASCONSELOS. 

grounds  that  he  gave  freedom  to  his  real  emotions.  Throwing 
himself  upon  the  earth,  at  the  foot  of  a  noble  palm,  which  was 
encircled  by  a  dense  thicket  of  tributary  vines  and  *hrul»s.  ho 
yielded  to  speech  a  portion  of  the  troubles  which  had  weighed 
hitherto  in  silence  upon  his  mind. 

"  Now,  out  upon  this  fortune,  that  seems  ever  bent  to  break 
me  on  the  rack  of  fear.  You  put  your  foot  upon  one  danger, 
and  another  springs  up  from  its  seed.  A  thousand  times  have  1 
flattered  myself  that  all  was  safe — all  sure;  but  even  in  the  full 
feeling  of  exultation  the  doubt,  the  dread,  has  thrust  its  hideous 
face  before  my  own,  grinning  and  gibing  at  me,  with  the  per 
petual  threat  of.  overthrow  and  exposure.  These  knights  of 
Portugal  are  the  black  dogs  that  hunt  upon  my  heels.  Would  1 
could  brain  or  bane  them  both  !  Are  they,  as  De  Soto  and  his 
lady  think  ? — is  he,  rather,  this  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  a  person 
to  be  feared  '<-.  Has  he,  indeed,  won  his  way  to  that  heart  1 — but 
no!  Olivia  de  Alvaro  cannot  soon  forget — cannot  hide  from 
sight — from  fear,  if  no  other  more  grateful  feeling,  those  memo 
ries —  that  co'iscio  isness — which  utterly  forbid  that  she  should 
become  the  *'ife  of  this  or  of  any  man — unless,  indeed,  in  the 
utter  depravation  of  nat  u re,  and  the  utter  scorn  and  abandonment 
of  the  world.  And  where  would  such  a  condition,  for  her,  find 
the  faith  and  homage  of  this  Philip  de  Vasconselos  ?  Yet,  let  me 
not  deceive  myself.  She  is  no  longer  what  she  was.  She 
dreams — she  dotes — she  weeps — she  has  no  voice  for  song, — she 
who  sung  ever,  and  scarce  had  any  other  passion, — and  she 
broods,  to  utter  forgetfulnes  of  the  things  around  her — she,  who 
could  sing,  or  sin,  before,  without  any  thoughts  of  th.'s  or  anv 
other  world.  It  may  be  as  they  think.  What  thei.  ?  Shall  she- 
have  way  1  Shall  this  knight  of  Portugal  have  way  ?  Shall 
she  wed  with  him,  or  with  any,  to  my  ruin  and  disgrace  7  No ! 
no!  It  is  but  to  ask  the  question  to  find  the  answer.  It  is 
here — it  is  here — either  in  my  dagger,  or  in  that  of  one  as  ready 
as  mine  own  !" 

Such  was  the  soliloquy.  He  clutched  the  handle  of  his  wea 
pon  as  he  spoke.,  and  half  drew  it  from  the  sheath.  But  he 


THE  FATHER'S  SOLILOQUY.  27 

thrust  it  back  a  moment  aft  IT,  drew  his  cap  abov.  I,   and 

srrctched  himsrlf  along  upon  the  sward,  with  his  face  downward. 
i,  be  lay  in  complete  silence,  and  scarcely  stirring,  the  full 

.  f  half  an  hour.     Meanwhile,  the  day   waned.     Tl. 
wa-  at  his  .ir'ting.  and  the  night  birds  began  wheeling,  with  faint 
shrieks,    about    the    place    where    he    seemed    to    slumber.      But 
slumber  was  not  upon  his  eyelids,  or  in  his  thoughts.     It  was  not 

rs>ity  just  then.  He  rose,  at  length,  with  the  deliberation 
of  "lie  who  lias  recovered  the  iuii  sway  over  all  his  moods,  and. 
adjusting  his  garments,  prepared  to  move  towards  his  dwelling, 
whieh  was  still  at  some  distance,  and  hidden  wholly  from  his 

y  the   sinuosity  of  the  avenues,   and   the  . '  of  the 

thicket.  But  he  paused  more  than  once  on  his  progress,  and, 
more  than  once,  did  words  of  brief  soliloquy  break  from  his 
lips. 

"At  lea»t,  1  must  soon  know  all.     Theiv  mu-t  be  an  explana 
tion.      I    mu-t   fathom   her  tecret      I  must  probe  her  heart   to  its 
OOre.      If  that  be  safi — if  she  be  \\hat   >he  hath   been  Milliciently 
hained  to  be  — what  such  training  indeed  should  liave  made  her, — 
ami  a  grim  smile  passed  over  his   :  ke.—  "then 

lilij.  de    Yav.-oiiselos  can  do  no  hurt.      Let  him  live.      He 

will    scarcely    linger   here.      But    if  the:  •  ntimmt    in    her 

.'.  iy  born  and  from  his  ;i_  h  as   1   would   have 

tr.impled  out,  if  nerd  br.  in  blood   and  fire, — a  sentiment  hostile 

to  my  hold  upon  her — then  must  I   strike, — strike  fatally, — and 

the   danger   in  its    very   bud.      But,   I  must  penetrate  her 
She   h.'«h   grown   subtle   of  late.— Mai  is  an  evi: 

i  that  -he  hath  a  secret,  and  from  me.  That  alone  is 
si'/'iili- ant  of  danger  !  I>oth  her  'ty  distr 

Ha!    what    bbel        h- •   her   tears    manife-t    a    fei-i' 

!   '      Thru   is   it    a    proof  that    -he    holds    me   in   ha' 
loathing.      1  must  search,  fathom   this   my-tery.   and    be   as   -win 
.md  stein  as  I  am  vigilant  !" 

i-h  was  not  -poken  all  at  oiu-r.  but  in  snatches.  durini» 
his  wall;,  and  eaeli  soliioijuy  eompellini:  hi-  mom«  ntary  pan-.' 
In  this  manner  he  went  torward.  his  u-atures  and  manner  becom 


28  VASCONSELOS. 

ing  more  and  more  composed  as  he  approached  the  dwelling 
At  length  the  cottage  and  its  gay  verandahs  opened  before  him. 
and  he  paused  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  niece,  where  she  lav 
dreamily  reclining,  embowered  in  the  grateful  shades  of  the  tall 
trees  by  which  the  dwelling  was  surrounded. 

Olivia  de  Alvaro,  as  we  now  behold  her,  her  form  disposed 
at  ease,  stretched  on  ample  cushions,  in  the  airy  recesses  of  the 
verandah,  would  seem,  from  the  half-shut  eye,  and  the  almost 
motionless  attitude  in  which  she  lay,  to  have  been  wrapt  in  the 
most  grateful  slumbers.  She  was  evidently  unconscious  of  the 
rays  of  the  fast  disappearing  sunlight,  which  shot,  faint  and  bro 
kenly,  through  the  intervening  foliage.  She  was  a  pale,  proud 
beauty,  one  whose  high  and  aristocratic  features  seemed  scaivelv 
consistent  with  that  despondency  of  mood  and  dependency  of  na 
ture,  which  have  been  described  as  her  present  characteristics. 
Her  features  were  not  regular,  but  there  was  a  strange  harmony 
between  them  nevertheless ;  the  lofty  brow,  corresponding  well 
with  the  distinctly  rounded  chin, — the  large  and  well-formed 
nose,  and  that  '  drooping  darkness  of  the  Moorish  eye,'  which,  as 
we  know, — though  it  may  slumber  long  in  cloud  and  shadow, — 
is  still  capable  of  such  sudden  lightnings  as  consume  at  the  singh- 
flash.  "Wi-  have  already  described  her  as  very  young — scarcely 
more  than  seventeen; — but  this  youthfulness  was  not  marked  1,\ 
the  usual  frankness — the  uncircumspect  and  exuberant  flow,  of 
that  period.  Her  countenance  was  marked  by  an  earnestness. 
an  intensity  of  ga/e  and  expression,  which  denoted  a  maturity  of 
thought  and  feeling  quite  beyond  her  years.  It  is  surprising  how 
rapidly  one  lives,  who  has  learned  to  feel,  and  been  made  to  suf 
fer.  Yet  what  had  been  the  sources  of  suffering  in  her  ?  Ilidi, 
beautiful,  well-beloved,  what  were  the  cares  cf  Olivia  de  Alvaro, 
by  which  she  had  grown  so  singularly  mature?  This  we  runs' 
ascertain  in  future  pages.  Enough,  if  now  we  continue  the  « Irs 
criptimi  of  her  person. 

She  was  tall,  and  of  commanding  figure  and  demeanor.     H«  r 
features,  significant  of  so  much  sweetness  and  beauty,  wei 
nwlced  by  a  tremulous  and  timid  sadness  of  gaze,  wjiicli  con  • 


OLIVIA    DE    AI.YAKO.  •>'.! 

veyed  the  impression  of  a  sen>e  of  awe,  compelling  her  fears,  and 
di-prosvjn_i:  I1(.r  elasticity.      Thi-  exprev-ion.    particularly  at    i 
moments    when    >he    M emed    to    become   forgetful  ,  thrr 

presence,  commended  lu-r  to  sympathy,  rather  than  olTended 
pride.  There  could  be  no  jealousy  of  her  superiority,  in  the  evi 
dent  feeling  of  apprehension  which  she  di-played.  A  vainie 
N  of  danger  seemed  to  accompany  the  COn»dOU8ne88  of  her 
charms  ;  and  the  elTeet  was  ratlier  to  humble  ami  -ubdue  all  the 
loftier  indications  that  were  vet  inseparable  from  the  LTI 
of  her  manner,  and  the  conscious  nobility  of  blood  and  beaut v. 
To  these  she  was  by  no 'means  insensible.  Her  carriage  was 
such  as  showed  an  habitual  appreciation  of  all  her  posse»ions ; 
yet  so  modified  as  to  make  nature  more  conspicuous  than  habit 
in  her  demeanor.  The  heart  of  a  young  damsel  naturally,  and 
very  soon,  becomes  sensible  of  the  beauties  of  her  person.  Her 
mirror,  and  the  common  language  of  s.u-iety.  read  equally  in 
speech  and  manner,  soon  teach  her  all  the  value  of  her  charms. 
Hut  a  refined  ta>te  renders  it  impossible,  if  she  ivallv  should  be 
attractive,  that  she  >hould  escape  this  conviction.  It  is  her  merit 
when  she  does  not  presume  upon  her  j..,x<,.^i,,ns.  and  is  mod' 
content  in  then-  enjoyment.  It  is  in  due  decree  with  the  devel 
opment  of  her  intellect,  and  the  experience  of  afflictions,  that  -he 
schools  her  vanity.  That  Olivia  de  A  Ivan.  had.  in  1  -uro, 

learned  to  tutor  hers.  mi«rht  be  gathered  from  many  indications. 
That  she  was  not  :n<ensible  to  her  own  charms,  was  etjuallv  cvi- 
Jent  from  th.  -  in  which  she  employ. -d  them.  Few  dam 

sels  knew  so  well    how    to    train  the    glance,   to  jrive  variety 
play    to    the    expressive     mtttdeo,    and    the    plea-iiiir.   per>ua-ive 
action;   to  subdue  to  s\v»-etness.  and    the   iiio-t    touching   t«-nder- 
-  of  tone,  the  murmurs  of  the    obedient  voiee  ;    to    make 

n  -p-ak.  U  \\ith  an  endowment  of  their  own.  and  to  inform, 
with  a    nameless,  but    nuM  winning    flrxibilitv.  e\er\-  j, 
of  th.-  well-repulated  and  ex.|iii-i!ely  vynimetn.-al    figure.       Half 
sittinii.  half  reclinin<r.  ;,,   the  wext.-rn  of    the    dw.-llin^, 

her  Byei  vaguely  pUTSUll  !  fluetuatin^  play  of  the  . 

sunlight,  tliat  si*  It-    m    <r,, I.K.I!    ,b-(  \,\,  ts.   as    it  were,  tin-' 


30  VASxXWSELOS. 

the  slightly  waving  leaves  of  the  anana  and  the  orange,  she  yet 
appeared  wholly  regardless  of  the  timid  brightness  that  sprinkled, 
as  with  fairy  eyes,  the  apartment  all  about  her  feet.  She  seemed 
to  muse  in  far  delicious  fancies,  that  made  her  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  the  actual  world  in  which  she  lived.  Her  person,  unre 
strained  by  any  human  presence,  had  naturally  subsided  into  an 
attitude  equally  graceful  and  voluptuous;  and  this  was  altogether 
the  unstudied  action  of  a  grace,  which,  natural  always,  had  yet 
always  recognized  hi  art  only  the  appointed  assistant,  the  tiring 
woman  and  handmaid,  of  the  imperial  nature.  Her  dark,  glossy 
hair,  hung  upon  her  shoulders,  from  which  it  descended  in  waving 
but  massive  tresses.  The  art  which  had,  without  an  effort,  dis 
posed  their  flowing  and  magnificent  folds,  had  never  been  more 
successful  in  removing  all  proof  of  its  own  adorning  fingers. 
Slightly  stirred  by  th^  fitful  zephyrs  of  an  afternoon  in  May.  that 
season  which,  in  Cuba,  recognizes  the  perfect  presence  of  the  full- 
bosomed  summer,  her  ringlets  played  upon  her  neck  like  young 
birds,  for  the  first  time  conscious  of  their  wings,  yet  still  flutter 
ing,  timidly  and  fondly,  about  the  parent  nest.  And  thus  she 
reclined,  c]ad  in  robes  of  white,  slightly  trimmed  with  blue  and 
oranire,  seemingly  unconscious  of  all  things  but  those  which  were 
deeply  hidden  in  her  thoughts, at  the  moment  when  Don  Balthazar 
divw  nigh  t<>  tin-  dwelling. 

The  shrubbery  had  enabled  him  to  approach  unseen,  until 
within  a  few  steps  of  the  verandah.  He  could  detect  the  familiar 
outline  of  her  person  through  the  leaves  of  a  gorgeous  orange, 
ben  rath  which  he  stood  silently  beholding  her.  She  dreamed  not 
of  his  presence.  His  footstep  had  been  carefully  set  down,  as  if 
not  to  disturb  her  ;  and  thus  unsuspected,  he  stood,  for  a  few  mo 
limits,  watching  her  with  a  singular  and  intense  interest.  Even 
thus  keen  and  emu-nit  ralive  tin-  ga/e  which  the  fascinating  serpent 
fastens  upon  the  uncoiiH-ioiis  bird  that  flies  or  flutters  in  his  sight. 
It  \\as  not  malignity  or  hostility  that  was  apparent  in  the  expres- 
Nion  of  hi-  eyes.  Nay.  to  the  casual- spectator,  there  might  have 
seemed  fondness  only,  in  the  keen  and  earnest  interest,  which 
•eerced  -j  study  her  evwy  Mature,  as  if  prompted  by  the  most 


BEAUTY'S  MEDITATIONS.  81 

paternal  affection.  And  yet  there  was  a  something  bitter  in  the 
smile  which  occasionally  played  upon  his  lips;  and  the  slight 
frown  which  darkened  in  his  glance  was  significant  of  a  disquiet 
or  disappointment,  the  sources  of  which  we  may  not  yet  compre 
hend.  Suspicion,  too,  might  be  seen  to  lurk  even  beneath  the 
smile  of  the  observer,  and  his  secret  watch  might  have  been  dic 
tated  by  a  policy  which  was  not  above  the  indulgence  of  a 
baseness. 

And  yet  his  purpose  did  not  seem  to  be  espionage.  A  sudden 
and  troublesome  thought — perhaps  a  suddenly  suggested  curios 
ity — appeared  to  arrest  his  fo«>Nteps  on  his  approach.  Her  ap 
pearance,  her  attitude,  seemed  to  invite  iiis  study.  It  was  to 
muse,  to  meditate,  or,  perhaps,  to  prepare  his  mind  lor  some 
-lit  duty,  that  he  paused,  without  seeking  to  disturb  the  dam 
sel  in  her  vacant  mood.  She.  tOO,  had  h<  •  for  meditation; 

though  one  might  readily  ascribe  M.V  langu«r  •»(  her  atti 

tude  10  the  1. land  and  seductive  influences  ,,f  the  climate.  T;»  the 
voluptuous  idler,  already  familiar  with  that  luxr.r_  .tion 

which  suspends  the  thought,  and  strip-;  the  lan-y  of  evu-vthin^ 
but  wings,  her  appearance  would  seer  i  n;:'irai  enough,  ond  her 
conjectured  reveries  would  only  be  the  r  •';!.  yet  unim- 

prenhre  in  the  world.  It  would  be  on-y  to  liken  her  bower  to 
the  wi/ard  domain  of  that  archimag*.  \vln>  wove  his  perpetual 
snares  in  tin-  Cattle  of  Indolence,  making  all  things  dreamy  and 
delusive  in  the  half-shut  eye.  But  the  meditations  of  Olivia  de 
Alvaro  were  of  a  n  more  deeply  troubles.. m.. 

than  those  of  her  uncle,      i'  might   be  seen   to  gather  in 

her  eyi — slowly,  it    is   tine,  and  few. — but   they  were  *ueh  M 
-m  look  to  see  in  the  Qjet  <»f  \..ung  and  innocent  loveli;  . 
The    gn-at    drop<    silently  oo/ing    fmm    beneath    their  dark    and 
drooping  fringes,  like   X..IIH-   gradual    stream  gliding  silently  forth 
rV- 'in  the   shade   nf  o\erhanging   al<le;  :,    })V  h.  r 

uncle.  His  features  l.ecame  gra\er  as  he  beheld  them,  and  he 
!o, iked  a-ide — he  looked  down — as  if  anxious  to  shut  them  from 
hi>  .-ight.  He  turned  away  hastily  a  moment  after,  and,  with 
careful  footstep,  retreated  silently  from  his  place  of  watch.  TVk- 


32  VASCONSELOS. 

ing  a  hasty  turn  through  the  deeper  ranks  of  foliage,  he  again, 
a  tier  a  little  interval,  was  returning  in  the  direction  of  the  dwell 
ing,  when  his  ear  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of  approaching 
voices.  He  promptly  shrouded  himself  in  a  little  copse  of  gren 
adilla.  Here  he  could  easily  distinguish  the  persons  of  the  visitors, 
himself  unseen.  In  a  few  moments  they  had  reached  the  spot 
where  he  stood  concealed.  They  proved  to  be  the  young  gallant, 
Nuno  de  Tobar,  ard  his  frail  but  beautiful  betrothed,  in  whose 
behalf  we  have  seen  how  greatly  the  anger  of  De  Soto  hud  hern 
awakened.  She  was  a  pretty  creature,  light-hearted  rather  than 
wanton,  whose  happiness  was  now  wholly  complete,  and  whose 
faults  were  all  about  to  be  repaired.  They  walked  unconsciously 
beside  the  stern  Balthazar,  and  their  prattle  once  more  wrought 
his  features  into  that  sardonic  expression  so  natural  to  a  man 
who  despises  the  simplicity  of  young  affections.  They  were  on 
a  visit  to  the  lovely  Olivia,  to  whom,  we  may  say  in  this  plaee, 
the  lu'trotha-  of  the  happy  couple  brought  at  once  a  pang  and  a 
pleasure.  We  must  leave  the  explanation  of  this  contradiction 
to  other  Chapters. 

It  was  with  something  of  chagrin  and  disquiet  that  Don  Bal 
thazar  discovered  who  were  the  approaching  parties.  lie  had 

almost  spoken  his  ;umoya;iees  aloud,  as  they  passed  onward  to 
the  cottage.  His  vexation  was  not  l</ng  suppressed.  As  soon  as 
ihey  had  p:i-^c«|  into  the  verandah,  he  retired  from  his  plaee  of 
watch,  to  a  >pot  of  greater  seclusion  in  the  groves,  and  the  pas- 
b-ionatc  soliloquy  to  which  h»  ijavi:  utterance  alionled  some  slight 
clue  to  the  nature  of  his  secret  meditations. 

"Now,"'  said  he,  flinging  himself  down  upon  the  sward,  a  thick 
•naltii)^  of  grass,  like,  that  of  tin-  Bermuda,  which  completely 
protects  the  garments  from  the  red  stains  of  the  earth.  "Now 
will  these  fools,  with  happiness  fancied  in  tin  ir  iira>p.  poeeeas  her 
spirit  with  all  the  passions  which  they  fee!  them^rlves.  If  hej 
mmd  were  yet  free  from  anv  fancy  in  l>eha!('  <  >f  ;hi>  knight  of 
IWt !!•.:.•: I,  they  would  do  much  towards  its  Trailing.  They  will 
speak  in  raptures  of  hopes  which  they  dream  to  be  posse--ionN 
"f  realities  which  seldom  live  through  a  season,  and  of  sentiments 


PREPARING   FOR  THE   CONFLICT.  83 

4 

which  few,  however  cheated  at  first,  hut  live  to  our^e  and  to  de 
spise  iii  aft.T  times.  'Iliis  Nuiio  do  Tobar  is  the  sworn  friend  of 
VW  He  will  labor  in  hi-  cause.  He  perhaps  kno\\s  all 

his  secrets.      Perhaps  he   comes  even    MOW  a-  an  cmissarv.       I  )«•- 
inonios!     But  does  it  need   this?      Let    me   u.it    deceive   m\ 
though   i    would    shut   the  truth    from    other  eye-.      Caul    doubt 
that  Olivia  de  Alvaro  looks  with  fa\or  on  this  knight!     That  -he 

loves   him — -he,  the  but   hu-h!      The  tiling  is  by  ; 

an  absurdity.     The  insane   pas-ion  does  not    -top  to  m>  i 
own  claims.     The  cloud   that  receives  ami  -wallows  ii|»  the 

HO  -hame  (or  such  alfrontery  ;  an<leven  i^iilt  may  wor-hip  with 
hope  at  the  altars  of  the  pure  ami  beautiful.  I  cannot  doubt  that 
she  loves  him.  Klse  why  this  change  siriee  he  came  upon  the 
island?  \Vhy  these  tears — this  despondency — thi<  drooping  fear. 
— tins  trembling  and  perpetual  cloud  and  apprehension.'  She 
shrinks  from  other  eves — from  mine.  Her  own  are  ca-t  upon 
the  earth,  or  c!o-ed  from  study.  Could  other  eyes  hut  read,  like 
mine,  she  would  have  no  secret  to  reveal!  It  is  well  that  she 
dare  not  speak.  The  very  pas-ion  that  -li"  feels  for  this  strai 
is  my  security.  She  must  sulidue  the-e  inclinations.  She  mu-t  - 
this  working  fanev  which  the-e  meddling  fools  will  hlow  into  a  flame. 

"hall  -fihV  it  !  Foi-tunatcly,  I  am  her  trill.  1  have  ever  led  hei 
as  a  child.  She  has  known  no  impulses  of  her  own,  save  those  of 
infancy,  until  now;  and  she  will  scarcely  now  withstand  that  p>\- 
ernini;  rule  which  hath  hitherto  swayed  her  a-  the  l»r.  the 

leaf.  [  would,  now,  thai  this  had  not  been  the  case.  I  have  peril 
led  upon  a  moment  the  >rcurity  of  a  life;  but  regret  is  unavailing 
now.  I  must  continue  as  I  have  bepm.  I  mu-t  still  assert  the 
superior  will  of  a  master,— not  simply  to  secure  my  slave,  but  to 
assure  in;  fety.  It  \\ill  be  ea-\.  and  why  should  I  - 

pie  to  do  it  ?      Why  this  fear,  this  teebleiic—  ?      I  will    QVeTCOmt 
it    a-    before!      She   shall    bend,    she   shall    bow.  or   break  in  the 
conflict  !    But  there  will  be  no  conflict.      She  will  ofl'er  n<>  opp. 
ti«>n  —  none   that    I   cannot  soon   disarm.      Had   it  been  her  fi 

ivan    mother,    I    should    have  no  such  victory.      She  would 
have  defied  me  in  her  paroxysm,  and  iii  the  very  passion  of  her 
2* 


34  VASCONSELOS. 

| 

rage,  she  would  have  left  no  secret  unrevealed,  even  though  in- 
stiint  ruin  followed  on  her  speech.  Fortunately,  the  child  sucked 
nothing  from  the  mother.  She  hath  no  such  temper.  She  has 
the  gentleness  of  poor  Alphonso,  all  his  meek  submission,  his 
dread  of  strife,  his  shrinking  dislike  of  struggle  and  excitement. 
Had  he  not  been  so  weak  as  to  submit  to  for  tyranny,  he  had 
never  suffered  wrong  from  me.  Olivia  hath  his  feebleness  <>f 
will;  but  she  hath  warmer  sensibilities.  Still,  they  make  nothing 
against  my  power, — I  have  schooled  them  to  submission  and 
self-denial.  What  if  I  have  done  her  wrong — and  she  dreams 
not  yet  of  its  extent — yet,  even  if  she  knew  all,  no  desperation 
of  desire,  or  fear,  could  drive  her  to  resistance.  Here,  I  am  se 
cure!  Unlike  her  fiery  dam,  she  is  too  heedful  of  the  world's 
voice  to  lift  her  own,  where  the  very  cry  which  would  erush  ///// 
fortunes,  would  leave  hers  wrecked  on  the  same  shoals.  <)i. 
this,  I  hold  !  Here,  I  am  safe.  I  must  still  sway— still  maintain 
the  mastery — but  I  foresee  the  struggle.  1  see  it  in  those  tear.-, 
— in  that  deep  despondency, — in  the  distaste  which  no  longer 
suffers  her  eyes  to  meet  the  gaze  of  mine, — in  the  cold  and  chill 
ing  word  which  checks  my  speech, — and  the  reserve,  almost  like 
aversion,  with  which  she  encounters  my  approach.  I  must  pre 
pare  for  the  struggle ; — but  shall  we  not  escape  it  all  if  \ve  once 
»et  these  knights  of  Portugal  embarked  1  But  how,  if  they 
resolve  to  stay  1  That  is  a  grief  that  must  find  its  own 
remedies !" 

We  care  not  now  to  pursue  our  subtle  politician  in  his  walks 
or  his  soliloquies.  Enough  has  been  shown  to  develop  the  sort 
of  temper  with  which  he  views  the  supposed  conquests  of  his 
lovely  niece,  over  the  affections  of  two  of  the  noblest  adventur 
ers  in  the  train  of  De  Soto.  Tin-so  had  not  been  her  only  con 
quests.  But  none  of  her  previous  suitors  had  ever  given  hei 
uncle  any  cause  for  apprehension.  It  has  been  shown  that  he  is 
not  simply  averse  to  her  marriage  with  either  of  the  knights  of 
Portugal,  but  is  alike  hostile  to  the  claims  of  all.  As  the  guar 
dian  of  his  niece,  with  small  estates  of  his  own,  and  ample  pos 
sessions  of  hers,  to  manage,  his  disquiet  on  this  subject  may  well 


LOVE'S  TEACHINGS.  46 

be  supposed  to  arise  from  motives  of  most  singular  s  fishness 
or  baseness.  But  Olivia  herself,  aware  of  his  aversion  to  her 
marriage,  lias  really  no  notion  that  avarice  is  the  infirmity  of  hei 
uncle.  She  knows  but  little  of  his  individual  resources,  but  much 
of  himself.  She  has  seen  m -thing  i"  !'i<  r.xpeiidituiv,  or  conduct, 
wliich  would  make  him  appear  in  her  eye*  to  be  a  mercenary. 
Her  minority  had  boon  singularly  managed,  so  as  to  keep  her  in 
a  state  of  menial  vassalage,  quite  uncommon  on  the  i>land. 
She  had  been  kept  in  almost  complete  seclusion  until  the  appear- 
aneo  of  De  Soto  and  his  lady,  when  it  was  impossible  to  with 
hold  her  from  the  court;  her  own  wealth,  her  lathe- 's  name,  and 
the  position  of  her  uncle,  equally  requiring  it.  l"r  to  this  |Hii<V 
she  little  dreamed  of  the  treasures  which  the  world  had  in 
its  keeping.  She  little  knew  the  value  of  her  o\  n.  Hut  in  the 
course  of  a  single  night  the  germ  of  pa»ion  had  l»li»»«»mcd.  and 
L«\c  rapidly  maturing  beneath  its  fervid  warmth,  had  taught 
her  a  yr'.ef  in  teaching  her  A  faith.  Alas  \  sir.  knew  not  till  now 
how  pivei..us.  how  radiant  white.  m.i<t  be  th  :  first  otfering^  de 
manded  for  its  shrine.  Leaving  the  uncle  t/  purMie  his  moody 
walk  through  the  umbnigeous  grounds  of  hi  domain,  let  us  re 
turn  to  the  niece,  and  witne.-.s  the,  reception  o.'her  gue-'-. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

''But  a  month  ago, 

I  went  from  hence,  iind  then  'twas  fresh 
In  murmur,  (as  you  know  what  great  one*  do 
The  less  will  prattle  of)  that  he  did  seek 
The  love  of  fair  Olina." — TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

THE  pleasant  laughter,  and  gay  voices  of  Nuno  de  Tobar,  and 
rJs  betrothed,  prepared  Olivia  de  Alvaro  for  their  approach.  The 
trace  of  tears  was  quickly  obi  iterated  from  her  eyes,  and  she 
strove  with  smiles  to  welcome  her  visitors.  Pride,  as  was 
alleged  by  her  uncle,  was  one  of  the  chief  securities  for  her 
strength,  no  less  than  for  his  safety.  She  was  one  of  those  who 
love  not  that  the  world  should  behold  or  suspect  their  sorrows. 
But  her  pride  was  rather  a  habit  than  a  passion.  She  had  other 
and  more  fiery  oualiti-.-s  in  her  natmv,  for  whieh  he  failed  to  give 
her  credit.  He  deceived  himself  when  he  thought  lie  knew  hei 
thon  uglily.  Some  of  her  characteristics  were  yet  in  abeyance, 
sonic  i!  n(Hls  and  passions  which  are  likely  to  confound  and 
astonish  him  hereafter.  But  these  in  proper  season.  She,  iier- 
seif,  is  perhaps  as  little  aware,  as  her  uncle,  of  her  natural 
endowments. 

Olivia  received  her  guests  on  the  steps  of  her  verandah.  The 
cloud  had  disappeared  from  her  face,  the  light  had  returned  to 
her  large  and  lustrous  eyes,  and  with  the  sweetest  voice  in  the 
world,  she  welcomed  them  to  an  abode  which,  to  the  casual 
visitor,  would  seem  to  be  entirely  secure,  from  sorrow.  The 
young  creatures  who  now  entered  it,  themselves  newly  made 
happy,  were  certainly  not  the  persons  to  make  any  discovery  of 
the  latent  troubles  of  its  inmate;  and  assuming  the  happiness  in 
other  hearts,  which  they  felt  in  their  own,  they  poured  out  upon 
Olivia  a  torrent  of  congratulations,  which  it  required  considers 


LENOKA    BOKAD1LLA.  3? 

ble  strength  of  endurance  to  withstand.     She  had  heard  of  their 
betrothal,  and  of  the  1'  which  DC  Soto  had  extended  to 

the  erring  gallant.  Society  at  that  day  in  Cuba  was  not  par 
ticularly  jealous  of  propriety.  That  Leonora  Bovadilla  had 
sinned,  foiin.l  its  suflicicnt  excuse  with  knight  and  lady,  in  the 
simple  fact  that  she  loved  ;  and  it  was  only  with  that  class  of 
ancients,  of  her  own  sex,  who  had  survived  even  the  hope  < 
change  from  single  to  dependent  blessedness — a  number  sing:i- 
larly  t'e\v  in  every  community — that  censure  claimed  the  privi- 
-till  to  wag  a  slanderous  tongue  under  the  guise  of  a  jeaimis 
virtue.  Olivia  <le  Alvaro  h:id  never  been  of  the  number  to 
reproach  the  poor  Leonora  for  her  lapse,  even  when  it  was 
doubtful  whether  the  sense  of  virtue,  the  sentiment  of  honor, 
or  tlie  feeling  of  love,  ill  Nuno  de  Tobar,  would  prompt  him 
to  repair  his  wrong  according  to  the  worldly  usage,  by 
making  her  his  wife.  Having  known  her  as  a  thoughtless  child, 
without  guile  as  without  experience,  a  '-feature  of  extreme  ievi- 
t  v.  but  without  anv  :mpiilses  to  evil  more  than  seemed  naturally 
to  belong  to  the  mcmmal  temper,  Olivia  was  not  prepared  to  re 
gard  her  as  guilty,  because  she  had  been  weak.  She  was 
indulgent  in  proportion  as  thr-  world  showed  itself  severe,  She 
knew,  according  :mou  history,  that, 

"  Kv.  -  -  may  claim, 

Except  tu\  erring  sister's  Mum 

and  rising  above  the  prejudices  <  .t\  the  world,  as  much  through 
sympathy  a--  generosity,  she  suffered  her  manner  towards  ih- 
frail  olfeiider  to  show  noi.e  of  those  har>lier  aspects  which  for- 
ever  insist  upon  it-  faults.  On  the  contrary,  a  tender  solicitude 
M-eim-d  desirous  to  ><.,,the  the  hiimiliatioiis  of  tin-  sufferer,  and 
make  her  forgetful  of  those  public  disgraces  \vhi.-h  >lie  c:-»iild  not 
always  hope  to  escape.  Leonora  felt  all  this,  and  P-paid  the 
kindness  of  Olivia  by  as  mm  h  devotion  as  could  distinguish  a 
nature  so  thoughtless.  The  first  visit  which  she  made,  after  the 
iiciliatiou  of  her  '_ruardian  with  her  lover,  was  tl:at  whi<-h  w 
now  witness.  Of  cour-e,  the  peculiar  c;ise  <»f  the  visitors  was  not 


38  VASCONSELOS. 

one  to  be  spoken  of  openly.  The  silent  pressure  of  Leonora's 
hand  by  Olivia,  the  tender  kiss  which  she  impressed  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  the  single  tear  which  gathered  in  her  eye,  as  she 
whispered  a  hurried  word  of  congratulation,  sufficiently  assured 
the  former  of  the  continuance  of  that  sympathy  which  had  al- 
ivatly  afforded  her  so  much  solace.  But  she  erred,  perhaps,  in 
ibing  the  tear  to  the  sympathies  of  friendship.  Had  she  but 
beheld  the  big  drops  that  fell  from  the  same  fruitful  fountains, 
but  a  little  while  before,  she  might  have  suspected  other  and 
more  selfish  sources  of  sorrow  in  her  friend. 

Seated  hi  the  cool  shadows  of  the  verandah,  the  gay  Leonora 
soon  opened  her  stores  of  prattle.  She  had  gathered  all  the 
rumors  of  the  day,  and  she  was  impatient  to  untold  them. 

"  And  O!  dearest  Olivia,  have  you  heard  of  tin-  tournament  ? 
The  town  is  full  of  it.  It  is  to  be  the  greatest  and  the  gayest 
of  all  the  shows  that  we  have  had.  They  have  IK  mm  the  pre 
parations  already.  Such  a  painting  of  shields  and  banners, — 
such  a  sharpening  of  swords  and  burnishing  of  lances, — such 
aprancLigofsteeds — it  will  be  something  to  ivmemher  a  thousand 
years  to  come!  Nuno  has  been  busy  since  no«»n  making  the 
;.  Yeingements.  The  adelantado  cannot  do  without  him.  He 
will  be  busy  for  a  week, — they  will  all  be  busy — your  knight,  as 
well  as  mine ;  for  you  know,  Olivia,  you  have  a  knight." 
The  other  shook  her  head  very  mournfully. 
"  Nay,  never  shake  your  head  ;  you  know  it  as  well  as  I — two 
of  them,  indeed;  and  you  might  have  a  do/en,  if  you  were  not 
so  proud  " 

"Me  proud,  Leonora!"  reproachfully. 

"No!  no!  I  don't  mean  that  !  I  ou</ht  to  know,  if  any  one, 
that  you  are  any  thing  but  proud.  I  should  have  ^aid,  so  lofty — 

so  superior " 

"  Ah !  vou  mock  me,  child." 

"I  am  a  child;  but  I  don't  mock  you.  It  is  so.  I  believe  it 
all,  and  everybody  else  thinks  BO.  I'm  sure  you'd  have  a  thou 
sand  suitors,  if  they  r>H  not  all  feel  that  they  are  unworthy  of 
your  smiles." 


LOVE   AND   AMBITION.  3tf 

The  hand  of  Olivia  was  passed  with  a  clow  j-n-sMin-  ov-r  h,-r 
brows.      Little  did  the  thoiightle->  L« •..li.-ra  tin-am  that  the  m 
was  occasioned  by  a  feeling  of  pain.     She  continued: 

Mint  i .ft he  homage  of  the  knights  of  Portugal,  nobody  has  a 
quotion.  It  is  in  i-very  0116*8  month;  e\ cry  body  Beefl  that  both 
the  brothers  low  s, .u  to  detraction.  The  question  with  them  all 
is.  which  of  tiieia  you  favor.  Now,  I  am  lor  Don  Andres,  the 
younger  ;  but  Nuno — " 

Here  >he  was  interrupted  by  a  look  from  h*r  lUrotVd.  f..i 
which  Olivia  was  properly  grateful.  The  subject  B  •«,  an- 

noy  her. 

*  Hn>h.  hu>h,  dear  Leonora  !— Tell  us  of  the  tounianienl  rather. 
This  is  not  the  MMOa  to  talk  of  love,  but  of  war.      S,,    |,,,xs    th,- 
adelaiitado   treats    the    aH'ectioiis,  when  they  eome  in  c..n!lict  wit1] 
his  ambition.      \Vh,(    n    [oyel J,  80   Mately.  s      n,,l,|,..   s..    Uki 
Queen, 48  the    Lady   Uabella  ?— yt-t   will    he    Irave    her.  a    BewJ/- 
wedded    wife,  to   jr, ,   on  wild  a.l vc-nt .ires  a-ain^    the     Floridiaiis. 
!•''«•  ««|.nn  M  -h   chivalry,  such    dev  ii.,n,  such    bvel      What  i 
hath  he  of  further  wars  .'—hath  he  not  wealth  enough  from  IVn.  ] 
—hath  he  not  grandeur  enough  as  ( Jovernor  of  t  his  goodly  island, 
and    reputed    o,,c  of  the  noblest  cavaliers    of  Spain  1      Meti 
h«-  wantonly  flings   fV,,m  l,im  a  iivj,,,,  al|1j  ;l  ,r|M|.i,M1<  tl-(.a,m, 
a^  dream— tbr   a   shadow  which  will    mock  his  hope,  and   del, 
him  of  all  his  hapj.ine— ." 

Olivia  had  gpoken  rapidly,  in  (.rder.  IXMdbiy,  to  divert  the  in. 
teivM  of  her  companions  to  other  subjects.  |M  ^-.raking,  how- 

ev,-r.  ,,f  ,he  projected  oonqoed  of  Florida,  -he  y,-t  trenched  upon 
the  province  of  Nuno  deTobar,  and  Endiieodj  awafled  h>  eorduct 

aUo.    II...  too,  like   DC  SotO,had  acMuiiv,l  the  ].. 
b.-autiful  woman;    he  had  formed  tfoi  e-jually  :  A  |;i,h  |h. 

•bom  to  abandon  at    the   calls   of  ambition  ;   and  though 

Mate  Mraa  neither  leonre,  nor  his  pone*  it  like  th. 

hitter.  y,-t    the    imputation,  in  scmo  degree,  la;. 

like  disregard  t.,  th,.  obim*  ,,t-  lluty  an,]  ;;-,       ,, 

•Wired  Olivia  after  the  usual  manner  ,,f  knight 

BM    chivalry  display  its-lf,  unlesi 


40  VASCONSELOS. 

by  deeds  of  arms  and  conquest  ?  It  is  by  these  deeds  and  this 
conquest,  that  it  brings  home  tribute  to  Beauty,  and  crowns  love 
with  its  proper  jewels.  It  is  to  make  love  secure  in  state  and 
home,  and  refresh  its  bowers  with  lasting  delight,  that  in  encoun 
ters  peril  for  a  season,  the  laurels  and  rewards  of  which  shall  en- 
dun-  through  future  years.  Love  is  not  abandoned  when  the  wor 
shipper  carries  ever  with  him  in  his  heart  a  passionate  devotion, 
which  makes  him  cry  upon  the  beloved  one's  name  in  the  storm  of 
1  tattle,  and  pray  for  her  prayers  in  the  tempests  of  the  deep,  which 
prompts  him  to  build  for  her  a  temple  in  waste  places,  and  to  en- 
wreathe  chaplets  of  her  favorite  flowers  in  forests  which  she  may 
never  see.  His  devotion  even  warms  with  distance,  and  he  re 
numbers  her  beauties  and  her  virtues  the  better  when  he  no 
longer  may  enjoy  them.  If  he  goes  forth,  it  is  with  the  purpose 
that  he  may  return  full-handed  with  spoils,  that  he  may  lay  at 
her  feet  in  guerdon  of  his  faith  and  homage.'' 

"Ah  !  Senor,  you  phrase  it  well,  and  it  is  such  fine  eloquence 
that  for  a  season  reconciles  the  poor  heart  of  woman  to  too  many 
of  the  errantries  of  chivalry.  For  me,  I  confess,  'twould  better 
j ilease  me  should  my  knight  leave  to  others  the  storm  of  battle 
and  the  peril  of  the  seas.  Let  me  have  the  devotions  of  his 
heart  at  the  altars  of  home,  rather  than  in  the  forests  of  the 
Floridian.  Let  me  have  the  idol  of  my  eyes  always  present  to 
my  sight.  I  should  not  need  that  he  should  wander  away  from 
my  eyes  to  be  able  to  recall  his  virtues  and  grow  fond  of  his 
devotion." 

"Oh  !  Fie,  Olivia,  dear, — you  have  no  sort  of  idea  of  what 
belongs  to  true  chivalry.  Why,"  true  chivalry  lives  on  fighting 
and  conquest,  on  long  wanderings  over  sea  and  land,  into  places 
that  were  never  heard  of  before,  seeking  all  sorts  of  enemies  to 
overthrow,  and  coming  home  with  treasures  of  gold,  great  em 
eralds,  such  as  they  gather  in  Peru,  and  pearls,--  pearls  by  the 
bushel.  They  gather  them,  Nuno  tells  me,  by  the  ba-ketful 
among  the  Kloridiaiis.  Nay,  you  smile,  — but  the  story  comes 
from  your  knight*  of  Portugal —Phillip,  the  elder,  has  been 
among  tin  D  that  country.'' 


A    FORMIDABLE    OPPONENT.  41 

ul  have  no  knights,  Leonora,  and  this  reminds  me  that  I  have 
really  no  interest   in  this   game   of  war  that  is  called  chivulrv. 
Let   those  like  it  who  may.     Its  splendid  shows  do  not  beguile 
i:isfy  my  imag'mati 

"Ah!    l)iit   they  will    in   the   tournament,    which   is   at   haii  <!. 
Don't    tell    me  tliat    you   have   no   knight.      I  promise  you,  dear 
Olivia,  that  you  will    have  knights   enough  to  do  battle  f<>; 
smiles,  mid   to   wear  your   favors.     These   knight-   uf   Portugal 
will  not  be  the  only  ones  to  break  lances  in  your  honor.     But  let 
them   beware  how  they  cross  with   my  Nuno.     If  he   do. 
unhorse  every  opponent,  I  will  never,  never,  never  love  him  any 
more.      And  that's  a  vow  to  the  Blessed  " 

••  I  >on't  be  ra>h,  Leonora,"'  interrupted  Nuno,  with  a  smile. 
"You  may  punish  yourse'f  by  surh  a  vow,  much  more  than  you 
eould  ever  punish  me!" 

"Hi!    II 

IIv-  evaded  the  Ojiirrv.  and  went  on. 

tor  overthrowing  these  knights  of  Portugal,  it  is  no  eaffj 
matter.  1  should  rather  CTOS8  lances  with  any  other  foe>!  Philip 
•!e  Va-eon>clos  " 

••II'.w!     Are  you  recreant?     Will  you  alN-w  these  Portuguese 

to  pluek  the  honors  from  <  "a-tilc?" 

'I    if  I   ran  help  it.      But  I  should  prefer  other 
hands   than    mine   to   make   the    attempt.      The    world    ivi>  fe\\ 

which  ran  -afely  OTOSfl  that  of  Phiiij.  -le  V 

mine.  I  fear,  is  n.,t    one  of  them;   and  I  so  love  the   man  that   I 
-hould    fmd    no   satisfaction  in  depriving  him   of  a   single    «;birv 

'hat    h.  lint   BOmcthll  .   is  due  to  the  hi>ll<>i 

"C  ('a-ti!c.  and    if   IMiiiip   «»\  eiiln-ows   all    other    roml>at.i 

a  eha'icc  of  inehidiii'j  me  ;iin.iii«r  his  capti\ 
'I'he  eyes  of  (  •  ;    ;,-    w<  re   cast  n\  <>n  the  irr-.und.      Hut  li.  • 
drank    in    •   I  r\    syllable  '.-.Inch    had    fallen  fn.m  tl, 

C.OUslipaof   Nuno  d«    Tobar.      She   did    not    sj..-.-ik  \\hetrhe  had 
nor  for  80m<    time  after,  but  r.-maiiie.l  apparently  a 

iv  and  desultory  prattle  A  ho.  in  the 


42  VASCONSELOS. 

of  all  doubts  of  the  future,  had  given  herself  up  to  that  fearless 
and  roving  method  \vhich  frut  too  commonly  distinguished  her 
mercurial  temper.  She  was  arrested  when  about  to  trench  upon 
dangerous  ground — when  about  to  renew  her  badinage  in  regard 
to  Olivia's  feelings  for  the  knights  of  Portugal, — by  the  appear 
ance  of  one  of  them.  Fortunately,  his  approach  had  been  heard 
in  season  to  prevent  her  speech. 

The  visitor  was  the  younger  of  the  two.  Andres  de  Vasconse- 
los  had  many  of  the  qualities  of  his  elder  brother,  Philip.  Their 
persons  were  not  unlike,  their  courage  and  the  contour  and  ex- 
piv>Mon  of  their  faces.  They  had  both  served  as  well  against 
the  Moors  of  Spain  as  the  red-men  of  the  western  contineflt. 
But  Philip,  the  elder,  enjoyed  the  high  distinction  of  being  usu 
ally  understood  when  the  family  name  was  mentioned.  lie  had 
done  famous  tilings  under  Almagro  In  Peru,  lie  had  once  before 
travelled  the  neighboring  continent  of  the  Appalachian,  at  least 
as  far  as  Cube/a  de  la  Vaea  had  earned  his  explorations.  He 
was  wise,  besides,  prudent,  circumspect  and  gentle,  and  these 
were  virtues  to  which  the  younger  brother.  Andres,  had  but  little 
claim.  Of  Philip  we  shall  say  more  hereafter.  Of  Andres,  the 
world  spake  with  many  qualifications.  He  was  described  as 
proud  and  passionaU — quick  of  quarrel — arrogant  in  his  assump 
tions,  and  of  enormous  self-conceit.  \Ve  have  already  had  it  inti 
mated  that  he,  as  well  as  his  brother,  was  now  in  doubt  whether 
to  continue  in  a  future  progress  with  the  expedition  of  De  Soto. 
Yet  they  had  both  left  Spain  with  this  special  object,  coming  over 
to  the  New  World  as  a  portion  of  the  armament  Something  of 
the  reason  for  their  change  of  purpose  has  already  been  sug- 
ge.xted.  They  had.  in  fiiet,  found  but  little  i-iieourageiiieiit  from 
the  adelantado. —  K-s->;  perhaps,  because  of  ins  inappreeiat i«»n  of 
thrir  merits— for  he  thought  of  the  brothers  veiy  highly — as  in 

consequence    of  tin-     biii"otr\     alld     jealollSV     of    the    Spanish    (  'hief- 

tains — {heir  clannish  prejudices,  and  a  somewhat  painful  sense  of 

theh1  inferiority,  at  lea-1,  to  tin  rider  of  the.  knights  of  Portugal. 
IV  neglect  of  De  Snto  had  followed,  p,-rh;:ps,  im-vitably  on  this 
feeling  of  his  people.  The  brothers  had  bren  oil'rr-d  no  dis- 


A   HOPELESS  SUIT.  48 

rfneti.  Ofl  in  the  army,  and  as  their  military  p:ussion  became  cooltxi, 

;'  love  made  its  app  -t  in  usurping  the  { 

:mer   in   their   bosoms.      Unhappily,  their  atfe, 
fixed  upon  the  same   lady,      The  devotion  of  Andres  de  \ 
selos  h-.l  him  almost  nightly  to  her  dwelling.     Philip  was  a  fro- 
<jueiit  visitor;    hut  h-  his  peri«Mls  as  seldom  to  cn>>-   his 

brother's  progress.      Andres  little  knew  how  much  he  owed   t«. 

.     EJe  was  alow  to  perceive,  whal  i  by  all 

;i:«l.  that,  if  the  heart  of  Olivia de  Alvaro  inclined  to 
•'ainly  was  n«>t  the  suitor  whom  she  most   pivf.-nvd.      His 
self-esteem  was  not  willing  to  accept  any  sueh  Ir.imili-iii. 

<>n. 

Olivia  naturally  received  him  with  respect  and  kindness.     Sh« 

felt  uneasy  at  }\'^  attentions,  l.ut  she  ri^p.-et.-d  him  l.e<-ai!M-  of'  her 

attachment  to  his  In-other.      It  .  with  his  temp.-r,  to  mis 

:ie   sour.-es  ,,f  this   kindness.      Hut    he  -nfleivd   to 

presume   upon  it.      A   eertaiu   dignifu-d   luit    mild  in  the 

mant.n-s  of  the  lady.  §eTV(  d  to  .-h«-«-k  Bl  BTJ   feeling  • -f  <>ve-\\e«-ninjT 

conlidenee,  and  to  sati-fv  the   bold  gallant  that  th.-  fortress  must 

;r  leaguer  bef  -re  the  garrison  \\-onlil  be  persuaded 

to  >unvnder.      II.-  i-ndi-avore.!  aeeordingly  to  s«-h.  _-,T  de- 

.vitli  as  turn  li  p.  :iiand:  and  t«- 

the    duration  of  the    si,  g.-.  his  attarks   \\»re   rend.  i»-d    m«'- 
more  fre.|uent.      It  was  seldom   that  a  night  was  snfll-ivd  io   pa^ 
without  finding  him  in  h.  :  her  iv- 

.  and  th.-  ner   mainirrs.  seld^u:   Milli-r. 

to  Irave   her  witlmiit   gi\i-  JpBT  vanity  sutr  .raine 

_n-s.     She   brheld  thi<  conlideu.T  with  pa! 
-  were  inerea^-.l  aeeordingly  ; — but  as  th«--- 

on  liar-h  UpCCtS,HOt]  lone  to   arrest    the   >elt-delu>i«>n  of 

the  lover. 

A  little  awkwardih  !nl  hi-  fir>t  app«-aranee  within  tho 

•  •irele.      Nuno  «],.   '|'o|,;ir  WM   the  friend  of  Philip  d«-  \ 
ratlier  than  his  brother.      II.-  had  n.-v.-r  been  alt 
with  the   latter.      Ib-  wa  f  both  for 

bis  fair  hostess — perhaps  suspected  the  nature  of  her  feelings  for 


44  VASCONSELOS. 

his  friend — and  knew,  besides,  that  the  younger  brother  had 
already  begun  to  regard  his  senior  with  a  feeling  of  rivalry 
Andres  was  naturally  jealous  of  one  whom  he  had  reason  to  be 
lieve  was  in  his  brother's  confidence;  while  Nuno  de  Tobar, 
though  fond  of  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  had  anything  but  a  friendly 
feeling  for  Andres.  The  imperious  temper  of  the  latter  had,  more 
than  once,  brought  them  to  the  verge  of  quarrel.'  Their  inter 
change  of  civilities  on  the  present  occasion  was  cold  and  formal , 
and,  though  the  fair  hostess,  seeing  the  feeling  between  them, 
made  an  amiable  effort  to  interest  the  party,  still  the  atmosphere 
for  awhile  grew  oppressive  from  mere  stillness  and  formality. 
But  the  confidence  of  Andres  de  Vasconselos  was  of  a  sort  not  to 
permit  this  influence  to  prevail  to  his  discomfiture ;  and  a  per 
severance  that  suffered  no  discouragement  from  a  freezing  answer, 
•on  rewarded  by  a  conversation,  which,  if  not  aetuully  ani 
mated,  was  yet  sufficiently  so  to  keep  the  scene  from  becoming 
absolutely  oppressive.  By  a  strong  effort  of  will,  for  which  her 
previous  exercise  had  not  often  prepared  her,  Olivia  took  a  rea 
s< .liable  share  in  the  dialogue,  and  Don  Andres  was  encouraged  to 
proceed  as  he  found  her  interest  somewhat  rising  in  one  of  the 
subjects  which  was  started.  This  was  the  affairs  of  the  army  and 
the  expedition,  and  naturally  enough  of  the  tournament.  The 
thoughtless  speech  of  Leonora  conducted  her  to  an  inquiry,  the 
answer  to  which  drew  the  eyes  of  Olivia  directly  upon  the 
knight  of  Portugal. 

"  They  say  ci  thee  and  of  thy  brother,  Don  Andres,  that  ye 
are  not  minded  to  proceed  on  this  expedition  into  the  country  of 
the  Fl.-ridian?" 

"Of  what  Philip  de  Vasoonselofl  designs,  fair  lady,  it  would  be 
presumption  in  me  to  conjecture.  Of  my  own  purpose  1  can 
say  nothing,  but  that  it  is  still  subject  to  such  moods  as  may  pre 
vail  with  me  when  the  adelantado  is  about  to  depart." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I  see  not  how  such  brave  cavaliers,  well  re, 
nowned  hi  sword,  and  battle-a\e,  and  spear,  can  hold  it  doubtful 
tfnat  they  shall  do  when  the  trumpet  invites  them  to  glorious  en- 
ierprise ;  nor  do  I  question  that  when  the  signal  sounds,  thou 


AGREEABLE    DELUSION.  45 

wilt  be  among  the  first   to  hear  ami  an-wcr.      But,  of  a  surety, 
thou  wilt  nut  be  wanting  to  tin-  toiinia: 

*  And    }••."   answered   the   kni-i  '.with   a   smile 
that   might  have  been  mi-taken  I'..;-                   ••  \v«-iv  it  not  M 

a  rashjie-s  if  I  >h«mM  venture  in  a  :  •  arms  with  Mich  for 

tunate  gallants  as  Don    Nuno  dc  Tohar.  who  wears  tli 
one  of  the  loveliest  dam-els  of  Cuba?     It  will  need  ,-omcthing 
more  than  skill  and    valor   to  render  a  poor  knight  of  Portugal 
-fill  against   the  cavalier-  of  (  'a-;ile.  when  they  co'u-h  BpeAI 
under  the  smiles  of  the  mo-t  invineible  beauty." 

Then-  \\as  somrthing  etmivocal  in  this  remark  that  made  Nuno 
de  Tobar  \\inet-,  but  \\\<  betrothed  did  imt  j.i-i'eeive  it.  Sin-  wi-nt 
on,  slily  glam  ing.  as  she  >|'<'k«-.  at  tin-  pale  tiiee  of  Olivia,  which 
put  on  an  inriva-ini:  i;ra\ity  as  >lu-  li>teiifd. 

•  ^    '         :ns  it  tn  m,-.  S.-fior.  that  thou  wilt  searedy  laek  in  the 
aus|»ie,-s    which    befriend    thy    oj.jM.iu-nt.       I    doubt    not    but   the 
smiles  of  Beauty    will    give  thee    suflieieiit    eneourageiuei.' 
lea^t,  it  is  s.-ar.vly  fitting   that  a  true   knight  should   sufler  fn-m 
"•iueh  want/' 

The  eyes  <,f  Aii'lresde  STftsooiiselos  followed  those  of  \.<  > 

as  sh<-  looked  misehievoii>ly  in  the  direction  of  her  friend.      The 

uite   unfortunate.      There   was   uo   mistaki' 

resolute  <;ra\ity  which  absolutely  gloomed  the  features  of  ( )|j. 
via.  But  lier  lace  \\as  no  longer  pale.  A  warm  llu-h  rose 
upon  her  cheeks  at  the  xame  moineiit.  of  the  BOUTOe  •>!*  \\hieh 
Don  Andres  readilx  «lcceive»l  himself.  His  vain  and  eai:«  r  tanev 
-  oti^tnied  thi>  Hush  into  a  eoiifes^iou  of  weakness, — and  a 
proud  exulting  glance,  \\hich  he  did  not  seek  to  re-train,  betra\  ed 
to  Olivia  the.  delightful  com  ictiou  \\hieh  he  iMt.  But  her  6/e« 

made  no  answer  to  hi-  own.  and  the  fhish  ptttfng immediately 

from   h,-r  cheeks,  was   MlOOeeded   l»y   an    almost    mortal    pal< 
which    was   by   no  means  diminished  while  Aixlres  eontiniied    to 
speak  iii  answer  fcO  tile  '_•  .'•  fil]  I  .  :ur«^ti«.ns  of  Leonora.       lie  had 

his  reply,  full  of  cm i  the   pl.-a-ing   insinuation 

she  ha-Ue.- i:\eyed.  <|iiite  as  much,  j.rrhaps.  b\  the  direction  of  h.  r 

glance,  as  by  the  language  which  -1»    .had  utteiv.l.     His  reply, 


46  VASCONSELOS. 

though  the  mere  words  might  disclaim  his  sense  of  triumph,  was 
yet  distinguished  by  a  manner  which  betrayed  the  most  confident 
assurance. 

"  Alas  !  Lady  Leonora,  thou  wouldst  betray  me  to  my  ruin  ! 
Would  I  could  rejoice  in  any  such  hope  as  that  which  thou  en- 
couragest.  But  how  should  it  be  for  me,  a  poor  knight  of 
Portugal,  by  no  means  in  favor  with  your  proud  nobles  of  Cas 
tile,  to  hope  for  better  countenance  from  her  proud  and  lovely 
daughters  1  Yet  the  bird  will  spread  his  wings  for  the  mansions 
of  the  sun  !  The  fond  insect  will  dart,  though  it  be  to  perish, 
into  the  blazing  flame  or  pyre  ; — and  1  tear  that,  hopeless  of  the 
Hlory  that  1  seek,  and  destined  to  equal  peril  in  the  pursuit,  I 
too  am  ambitious  of  the  prize  that  but  mocks  my  best  endea 
vor." 

"  Thou  confessest  then— thou  lovest  1"  was  the  eager  inquiry 
of  the  gay  and  thoughtless  Leonora. 

"  Ah  !  wouldst  thou  possess  thyself  of  my  secret  ?  That  were 
only  to  make  merry  with  my  weakness.  Surely,  in  the  good 
fortune  which  has  smiled  upon  thy  heart,  it  were  scarcely  gener 
ous  to  find  a  pleasure  to  show  to  the  world  the  disappointments 
which  mock  the  desire  now  preying  hopelessly,  perchance,  upon 
mine." 

"Not  hopelessly,  not  fruitlessly,  Sefior  Andres!  Verily, 
Scnor,  that  is  a  speech  more  gallantly  than  truly  spoken.  I  will 
not  believe  that  thou  thinkest  so  humbly  of  thy  hopes,  or  of  the 
noble  qualities  which  thou  bring'st  into  the  field,  as  potent 
aizainst  the  maidens  as  against  the  lances  of  Castile.  As  I  know 
that  our  cavaliers  esteem  thee  one  of  the  best  warriors  in  our 
array,  so  am  I  sure  that  our  ladies  look  upon  thce  with  a  fav<>r 
which  docs  not  imslx'seem  thy  reputation  as  a  knight." 

Tin-  flatters'  was  not  lost  upon  the  person  addressed.  He  was 
in  th«-  mood  to  believe  every  syllable;  and  indeed,  the  thought 
less  woman,  rating  the  judgment  of  her  friend  by  her  own,  was 
well  prepared  to  believe  that  the  preference  of  Olivia  was  be 
stowed  rather  upon  the  younger  than  the  elder  brother.  Don 
was  not  unwilling  to  continue  a  conversation  which 


A    SK  ASo.NA  HI.E    DIVKKSION.  47 

seemed  fc  o  much  nigher  to  hi>  object.     He  did  not 

see  the  painful  constraint  which  sat  upon  the  features  of  Olivia. 

"  Ah  !"  Nva-s  hi-  reply.       "Hut    lie    \\ho   ha.h   >et    liis   all', 
upon   the    bird  of  paradise,  can  give  hut  little  hoed  to  the  plum 
age  or  the  strains  of  inferior  MM 

Hi>  Bjrea  •gain  >ought  the  pale  countenance  of  the  maiden 
whom  he  Worshipped.  Her  glance  was  equally  wandering  and 
>;»d.  Nuno  de  Tobar  -aw  that  >he  wa-  troubled.  He  himself 
was  Cttmatisfied  \\ith  the  thoughtless  pla\  of  his  betrothed.  1 1,, 
felt  its  ni'si-hirvous  tendency,  ami  his  friend>hip  for  Philip  de 
V*a&  made  liim  unwilling  to  l.ehold  a  pn^rt-s-;  on  the 

part  of  his  brother  which  was  adverse  to  his  own.  He  inter 
fcwd  to  rffed  a  .liver>ion  of  the  topic,  which  the  fanciful  allusion 
of  Don  Andres  now  enal)le«l  him  to  do  without  an  effort. 

kinir  of  l.irds  and  sin«rJnLr.  dear  Lady  Olivia,  reminds  me 
that  in  tin-  .-ar.-s  of  the  camp,  and  in  my  long  term  of  disfavor, 
I  have  not  enjoy 'd  thy  mu-ic  tor  a  weary  season.  I  prav  th- •••, 
favor  us  with  somr  one  of  tli..M-  many  ditties  which  never  come 
with  due  rll'.Tt  save  from  those  who  feel  them.  1  would  I  could 
persuade  thee  to  one  of  those  antique  ballads  of  El  Cid ;  but  I 
will  not  a>k  thee.  remembering  the  flat  denial  which  thou  ga\ 
in  my  pr-  that  fine  courtier.  I ),-  Sinnlar.  when  he  omed 

the  ballad  of  I'rraea,  and  the  Moor  who  lost  Valencia.  Nath- 
le-s  some  other  strain,  I  pray  thee,  if  it  be  only  to  persuade 
Dona  Leonora  that  Xuno  de  Tobar  is  not  so  entirely  for  slave 
that  he  dare  DO*  BO  k  a  favor  at  the  hands  of  another  beauty.  I 
tr"v'  bidret,  that  thy  ear,  like  mine,  is  accessible  to  all 

th«-  eharms  of  mii-ie." 

*  Verily,  Sefior,91  vraa  the  reply,  -that  depends  entirely  on  the 

bird  that  >mir-.     There  are  BOOM  whoM'  plumage  makes  marvel- 

diM  their  strain-.     That  thou  ha-t  had  the  wit  to  entreat 

from   the  Lady  Olivia    that    bounty  which   it   has   been    my  first 

thought  (,,  solicit,  is  a  great  vexation.     But  I  must  content  my 

Self' DOW    with    H  i;\     elitlV;. 

The  ,-avaliers  both  looked  pleadingly  to  Olivia  as  they  spoke 
But  she  needed  no  second  soliciting.     She  was  not  one  of  thosa 


48  VASCONSELOS. 

whose  vanity  requires  persuasion,  as  well  as  audience ;  besides 
she  was  only  too  anxious  to  escape  a  further  dialogue,  which 
pained  her  something  more  than  either  of  the  parties  present 
could  imagine.  She  was  not  one  of  that  common  company  \vlic 
delight  in  the  imputation,  so  grateful  to  the  vulgar  damsel,  of 
conquests  which  they  have  made  ;  and  resented  naturally,  as  of 
fensive  no  less  to  decency  than  good  taste,  a  reference  of  this 
nature  in  the  presence  of  the  very  person  who  is  suspected  of  feel 
ing  their  authority.  But  there  were  deeper  sensibilities  besides 
these  at  work  within  her  bosom,  to  prompt  her  to  revolt  at  the  con 
versation,  and  the  diversion  of  Nuno  de  Tobar  was  eagerh  s?ized 
upon  as  affording  relief  to  troubled  feelings.  She  had  al.  eady 
taken  the  guitar  ere  Don  Andres  had  finished  speaking,  and,  altor 
a  few  soft  prelusive  touches,  with  a  voice  that  trembled  with  her 
emotions,  though  full  of  compass  and  power,  she  sang  in  tru- 
nappiest  style  of  art,  yet  with  the  most  easy  execution,  the  fol 
owing  ballad,  which  seemed  in  some  degree  designed  as  a  com 
mentary  upon  the  preceding  conversation : 

AMINA. 

Now  why  does  fair  Amina, 

With  gallant  suitors  near, 
Still  scornful  hark  the  pleading 

That  woos  no  other  ear  ? 

Great  nobles  seek  her  beauty, 

And  knights  for  valor  known, 
And  wealth  displays  its  treasure, 

Yet  still  she  keeps  her  own. 

She  answers  sighs  with  silence, 
And  heeds  not,  though  she  hears 

The  sorrows  of  the  bosom, 
That  worships  her  in  tears. 

A  scornful  song  requites  them, 

With  answer  such  as  shakes 
The  strong  heart  with  its  mockery— 

The  feeble  one  it  break*  1 


THE  SONG.  40 

And  thus,  while  all  are  watchful. 

Each  eager  in  his  quest, 
She  answers  for  the  bosom 

In  maiden  freedom  blest 

M  Ye  call  me  now  your  mistress, 
Ye  bow  beneath  my  word  ; 
To  change  were  sorry  wisdom, 
The  subject  to  the  Lord. 

"  I  know  ye  well,  my  masters, 
The  gentlest  of  your  kind, 
To  him  who  flies  in  freedom, 
The  sternest  where  ye  bind. 

'  'Tis  pweet  to  have  your  homage, 

JTis  sweet  to  hear  you  plead, 
And  know  that  for  our  beauty's  prtw 
Ye  do  each  valiant  deed. 

M  How  well  ye  speed  in  tourney, 
How  gallant  grace  the  hall ; 
How  sweetly  in  the  twilight  grove* 
Your  pleading  murmurs  fall  1 

u  Your  eloquence  how  gracious, 

Your  song  forever  sweet, 
That  lifts  the  heart  on  pinions 
As  exquisite  as  fleet 

"  Too  precious  to  the  maiden 

These  treasures  while  they're  true; 
And  sad  to  think,  if  change  in  her, 
Should  work  a  change  in  you. 

**  If  'tis  to  win  our  favor 

Your  graceful  arts  are  shown,- 
If  valor  strikes  thus  nobly. 
That  Beauty  may  be  won— 

"  If 'tis  for  this  th.-  p:>]. u-.' 

Your  courtly  graei-i  seea,— 
For  this  y  pl«  ;1,i  in  twilight  bower, 
With  homage  mire  to  plei 

s 


60  VASCONSELOS. 

"  How  great  the  fear  of  Beauty, 

If,  when  ye  gain  the  prize, 
Ye  deem  no  longer  needful 
The  grace  that  won  her  eyea . 

"  Ye  sing  but  for  your  mistress — 
Ye  sing  not  for  your  slave, — 
And  give  no  more,  the  object  won, 
The  worship  that  ye  gave. 

"  I  will  not  brook  a  peril, 

That  sounds  of  joy  the  knell ; 
And  will  not  yield  my  heart  to  love, 
Because  I  love  so  well." 

The  song  was  finished;  and  as  the  maiden  laid  the  instrument 
aside,  a  storm  of  gentle  reproaches  fell  upon  her  ear,  as  well  from 
Nuno  de  Tobar  as  from  the  youthful  knight  of  Portugal. 

"Nay,  nay  !"  exclaimed  the  fair  Leonorade  Bovadilla — "  heed 
her  not,  heed  her  not !  She  thinks  not  as  she  sings.  She  has 
chosen  this  ballad  in  a  perverse  spirit,  only  to  mock  what  I  have 
been  saying.  She  is  sworn  in  her  secret  heart,  well  1  know, 
against  all  such  inhuman  selfishness.  Out  upon  your  damsels  like 
Amina  !  She  was  but  a  Moorish  damsel,  I  trow,  and  her  heart 
was  given  up  to  heathen  divinities." 

"  And  love  himself  is  one  of  them,"  said  De  Tobar  archly. 

"  Not  our  love,  Don  Nuno — not  the  love  known  to  chivalry, 
and  before  whose  altars  the  true  knight  first  buckles  on  his  spurs. 
lie  hath  his  birth  in  the  gay  regions  of  Proven$e — a  cavalier  him- 
self,  belted  and  spurred,  with  the  addition  of  a  pair  of  wings.  Sre 
you  what  John  of  Nostrodamus  writes  of  him,  and  you  will  U- 
satisfied  that  he  is  not  of  heathen  origin — a  pure  Christa'm,  a  no 
ble  and  a  gentle — from  whom  comes  the  religion  of  the  belli « I 
knight." 

And  the  Portuguese  chauntcd  the  original  description  from  the 
ballad  of  the  Troubadour. 

"  Censure  not  the  Moor,"  said  Olivia  to  Leonora  gently — "  you 
know  not  that  I  somewhat  share  in  the  blood  of  that  misguided 
people." 


DON  ANDRE'S  THEOLOGY.  51 

"  But  not  of  Jie  infidel  ?"  replied  the  other  with  a  sort  of  holy 
horror,  crossing  herself  devoutly  as  she  spoke. 

"  No,  surely,  but  of  a  family    that   haply  beheld   the  blessed 

light  of  the  Christian  I'huivh,  and  of  their  own  free  will  sought 
baptism.  But  tin1  Itallad  I  have  sung  ccmes  not  from  the  Moor. 
It  is  pure  Castilian.  The  dam-el  Amina  was  of  the  true  faith." 
"Ay,  lady,  but  she  sang  not  wisely,  knowing  the  wants  of  our 
sex,  and  the  better  virtue  in  her  own.  Her  ballad  is  in  the  per 
\.TSC  spirit  of  the  Moor,  who,  with  the  true  heaven  in  his  eye.  \»-t 
wilfully  turned  away  his  sight.  In  heart  she  was  but  a  pagan. 
It  suits  the  eree.l  of  one  who  found  in  his  slave  the  thing  of  his 
auctions.  Of  such  only  is  it  permitted  to  think  ill  of  knighthood, 
and  to  stifle  all  the  free  faith  in  the  heart  of  woman.  It  suits  tor 
prooch  to  a  rare  of  misbelievers,  who,  though  they  bore  them- 
selvcs  manfully  t nough  in  battle,  were  yet  little  familiar  with  the 
laws  of  Christian  chivalry.  The  true  knight  loves  not  less  the 
because  it  hath  been  won.  If  he  keeps  it  no  longer  in 
his  e\e.  it  is  because  he  ha!h  conveyed  it  to  his  heart.  If  he 
boasts  no  longer  of  its  beauty,  it  is  because  he  fears  to  tempt  the 
avarice  of  others  to  seek  his  treasure.  If  he  sings  no  longer  in 
h.-r  praise,  it  is  because,  when  he  hath  wholly  given  himself  up  to 
her  charms,  as  he  doth  by  marriage,  he  hath  said  the  most  in  her 
honor  that  could  be  spoken.  Verily,  I  repeat,  your  Amina  was 
but  a  wretched  heathen  in  heart,  cold  and  selfish,  and  her  doctrine 
is  only  true  of  a  people  who  believe  with  the  infidel." 

was  the  eloquent  commentary  of  Don  Andres,  conveyed 
in  a  manner  at  once  spirited  and  graceful. 

"Thou  ha>t  made  a  riirht  good  and  proper  defence  of  thy  sex 
and  mind,  Don  Andrea,"  exclaimed  Leon,,™,  "and  I  trow  thon 

wilt  never  lack  lady's  favor  to  grace  thy  helmet  in  the  fields  of 
tourney.  Thou  wilt  take  thy  part.  I  tru-t,  in  the  tournament 
which  the  adelantado  has  appi«inted;thou  and  thy  valiant  brother, 
even  if  ye  go  not  on  the  enterprise  against  the  Floridian." 

With  the  mention  of  his  brother,  the  eyes  of  Don  Andres  were 
seen  suddenly  to  sparkle  with  a  keen  and  fiery  expression.  Nuno 
de  Tobar,  knowing  the  conscious  rivalry  that  existed  between  the 


62  VASCONSELOS. 

two,  watched  him  with  interest,  but  said  nothing.     But  Don  An 
dres  was  not  so  forbearing. 

"  Philip  de  Vasconselos  must  answer  for  himself,"  said  he, 
somewhat  equivocally — "  we  are  both  of  us  sufficiently  old  to 
adopt  our  resolutions  without  much  consultation  with  one  another." 

With  these  words  he  passed  quickly  from  the  subject.  The 
evening  was  not  much  longer  protracted,  and  soon  De  Tobar  and 
his  betrothed  took  their  departure,  leaving  the  knight  of  Portugal 
behind  them.  They  were  not  conscious,  as  they  descended  the 
verandah  into  the  groves  leading  from  the  dwelling,  of  the  move 
ments  of  another  who  led  the  way  through  the  shady  thickets. 
This  was  no  other  than  Philip  de  Vasconselos  himself.  Let  us 
not  imagine  that  he  had  been  a  listener.  lie  had  been  making 
his  way  to  the  abode  of  Olivia,  when  arrested,  almost  on  the 
threshold,  by  the  voice  of  his  brother.  lie  was  about  to  retire, 
as  he  had  usually  done  under  the  same  circumstances. 

"  Let  him  have  all  the  chances,"  he  murmured  to  himself,  aw 
he  turned  away.  "  lie  was  the  youngest  born  of  our  mother 
and  had  her  fondest  blessing.  It  were  a  grievous  sorrow  if  he 
had  not  mine." 

Just  then  the  voice  of  Olivia  in  song,  detained  his  departing 
footsteps.  He  leaned  sadly  against  a  tree  while  he  listened  to 
the  satirical  ballad  with  which  the  damsel  had  answered  the  so 
licitations  of  his  brother.  The  sentiment  of  the  ballad  was  no 
less  ungracious  in  his  ears  than  in  those  of  Andres ;  and  yet 
there  was  a  secret  feeling  of  satisfaction  in  the  heart  of  Philip, 
that  the  ditty  had  been  chosen  in  response  to  the  prayer  of  a 
rival.  He  retired,  with  mingled  feelings,  from  his  place  of  watch, 
as  the  song  ended,  and  strolled  slowly  through  the  alleys.  In  a 
little  while  he  heard  the  footsteps  and  the  voices  of  De  Tobar  and 
his  companion,  behind  him,  ami  perceived,  with  a  pang,  that  his 
brother  did  not  accompany  them.  His  pace  was  hurriedly  in 
creased.  He  felt  all  the  delicious  opportunity  which  Andres 
enjoyed,  and  readily  conjectured  that  it  was  with  a  special  purpose 
that  the  latter  remained  after  the  departure  of  her  other  guests. 

"  Well !"  he  murmured  to  himself  sadly,  "  be  it   so !     If  he 


A  LGPER'S  QI  n  63 

hath  the  word  with  which  to  win  her,  she  is  his  !  I  will  not  envy 
my  brother.  I  would  I  had  the  strength  to  pray  that  he  might 
be  successful.  He  hath  wronged  me — he  will  still  wrong  me — 
and  I  will  submit.  He  shall  find  in  me  no  willing  rival,  whether 
in  love  or  war.  Our  mother  gave  him  to  my  care.  I  will  think 
<>f  her  love,  though  he  may  never  do  justice  to  mine." 

The  field  was  clear  before  Andres  de  Vasconselos.  He  was 
alone  with  the  woman  whom  he  loved.  He  was  not  the 
man  to  lose  time,  or  dally  long  in  a  fruitless  attendance  at  the 
Mirine  of  his  devotions  without  making  his  petition  heard.  lie 
was  one  of  those  impetuous  spirits  whose  fierce  and  eager  will,  in  the 
assertion  of  its  desires,  is  apt  to  blind  to  the  prospect  of  defeat — 
to  all  prospect  save  that  which  is  beheld  through  the  medium 
of  a  passionate  and  almost  tren/.ied  hope.  Scarcely  had  Nuno  de 
Tobar  and  his  betrothed  disappeared,  before  he  was  at  the  feet 
of  Olivia.  But  not  for  us  to  watch  the  progress  of  the  brief  but 
exciting  scone  which  followed.  Let  it  suffice  that  ere  many 
minutes  had  elapsed,  Andres  de  Vasconselos  was  also  speeding 
away  from  the  abode,  darting  headlong  through  the  perfumed 
alleys  whieh  surrounded  it,  and  hurrying  almost  madly  in  the 
direction  of  the  neighboring  hills. 

With  his  disappearance,  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro  once  more 
emerged  from  the  cover  of  the  neighboring  thicket.  His  espio 
nage  over  his  niece  and  her  visitors  seems  to  have  been  continued 
throughout  the  evening.  He  had  been  sufficiently  near,  in  his 
place  of  concealment,  to  behold  all  that  had  taken  place,  and  to 
hear  .-very  syllable  that  was  spoken.  An  exulting  expi 
was  kindled  in  his  face,  and  his  satisfaction  at  the  result  was  audi 
bly  expn-- 

"So  far  it  is  well  !  He  hath  his  quietu*.  I  had  expected  thN  ; 
but  it  is  something  to  be  sure.  That  danger  is  passed.  There  ;- 
yet  another,  and  a  greater !  Were  I  as  confident  of  the  answer  she 
would  make  to  the  prayer  of  Philip  a-  of  Andres — nay,  v 
not  so  confident — I  should  feel  at  rest.  This  accursed  anxi,  t\  ! 
It  leaves  me  almost  a  c.\v;ird.  I  Jut  I  must  arm  myself  for  tin- 
worst,  and  against  the  final  struggle.  It  will  come,  and  I  must  be 


54  VASCONSELOS. 

prepared.     Olivia  de  Alvaro  must  wed  with  neither  of  these 
knights  of  Portugal.   She  must  wed  with  none.  The  hour  that  finds 

her  a  bride,  finds  me .     But  it  shall  never  come  to  this  ; 

we  must  baffle  him,  or  he  must  perish.     Both  shall  perish  ere 
she  wed  this  man  !" 

Did  Olivia  dream  of  the  near  neighborhood  of  her  uncle  all  this 
while !  Could  she  fancy  what  were  his  resolves  and  reflections,  in 
respect  to  her  future  fate  and  fortunes  !  It  might  almost  seem 
that  she  did  from  the  pallid  features  of  her  face,  the  big  tears 
swelling  in  her  eyes,  the  drooping  self-abandonment  with  which, 
as  soon  as  Andres  de  Vasconselos  had  disappeared,  she  suffered 
herself  to  fall  back  upon  the  couch,  her  hands  covering  her  face, 
and,  as  it  were,  seeking  to  stifle  the  deep  moan  of  agony  which 
perforce  escaped  from  her  lips.  The  sound  reached  Don  Bal 
thazar  in  his  place  of  concealment.  Slowly  he  receded  from  the 
spot  and  disappeared  in  the  more  distant  shrubbery.  He  had 
not  the  heart  to  meet  her  at  that  moment. 


CHAPTER    V. 


"  U§o  a  vedirmi 
Tremar  tu  set ;  ma,  piu  non  tremo."— ALTOOU. 


IT  was  past  midnight  when  Andres  de  Vasconselos  returned  to 
the  bohio  or  cottage,  which  was  occupied  by  his  brother  and  him 
self  His  agitation  was  measurably  subsided,  but  not  his  pai 
sions.  The  quiet  was  only  upon  the  surface.  A  violent  storm 
was  still  busy,  raging  in  the  depths  of  his  spirit.  His  features 
were  rigidly  composed,  but  stern  almost  to  feroeitv.  and  his 
emotion  was  perhaps  only  concealed  by  the  resolute  compres 
sion  of  his  lips.  It  seemed  as  if  he  did  not  dare  to  trust  to  tin-in 
in  speech.  Though  late,  his  brother  had  not  yet  retired  f..r  tin- 
night.  Philip  de  Vasconselos  was  busily  en^ed  writing  at  the 
table,  the  only  one  which  the  apartment  contained.  The  light 
by  which  he  wrote  was  peculiar  enough,  however  common  to  the 
island.  It  consisted  of  a  cluster  of  twelve  or  fifteen  cocuyos.— 
that  larger  sort  of  phosphorescent  insect.  These  were  enclosed  in 
a  little  wicker-work,  or  cage,  made  of  the  most  delicate  thr. 
of  gold-wire.  They  emitted  a  light,  of  a  color  brilliantly  green, 
ample  enough  for  all  the  purposes  of  the  student.  Philip  looked 
up,  at  the  entrance  of  his  brother,  and  discovered,  at  a  ula- 
that  his  emotions  had  been  violently  aroused  and  agitated.  II, 
welcomed  him,  however,  with  a  gentle  word  and  -mile,  the  an 
swer  to  which  was  at  once  brief  and  iin«:ra<-ioiis. 

"Are  you  unwell,  Andres?"  was  the  inquiry,  ain-ctionatflv 
made;  for  the  elder  brother  was  touched,  rather  than  vexed,  by 
the  repulsive  accents  of  the  other. 

"And  if  I  were,  Philip  de  Vasconselos]"  sternly  and  un^atis, 
factorily  replied  the  younger. 

"And  if  thou  wort,  Andres!     This  to  me,  thy  brother?" 


56  VASCONSELOS. 

"Why  not?  Why  should  grief  or  suffering  of  mine  concern 
thee  ?  It  is  enough  that  thou  hast  neither." 

"Nay,  Andres,  that  I  myself  am  free  from  cares  and  sorrows 
would  be  good  reason  only  why  I  should  seek  to  bring  some 
remedy  to  thine.  But  there  is  yet  another  cause  for  my  anxiety. 
The  epistle,  my  brother,  which  is  now  growing  beneath  my 
hands  ^specially  reminds  me  of  my  duty  to  succor  and  to  com 
fort  thee.  It  is  a  letter  to  our  mother,  Andres ;  and  I  am  even 
now  about  to  speak  of  thy  health  and  happiness." 

"What  warrant  hast  thou  for  assuming  either]  What  know 
est  thou  of  my  happiness  or  health  ?" 

"Nay,  Andres,  that  thou  hast  vigorous  and  youthful  health, 
may  not  be  denied.  All  who  behold  thee,  speak  loudly  of  thy 
full  cheek,  thy  elastic  form,  and  the  brightness  of  thine  eye;  and 
thrse  things  speak  for  thy  happiness  also.  It  is  vain  to  declare 
the  presence  of  a  grief  which  leaves  the  beauty  and  vigor  of  the 
form  unwasted  and  untouched.  Surely,  my  brother,  thou  art 
not  unhappy  ?" 

"  Why  troublest  thou  me  with  such  questions,  Philip1?  Write 
to  our  mother  whatever  it  pleaseth  thee  to  write.  Say  what  thou 
wilt.  It  matters  but  little  to  me  what  thou  sayest !" 

"  But  it  matters  much  to  her,  Andres,"  replied  the  other, 
somewhat  reproachfully.  "Besides,  I  dare  not  speak  to  our 
mother  indifferently  of  him,  her  favorite  son,  whom  she  so  com 
mended  especially  to  my  affection  as  a  younger  brother." 

"Philip  de  Vasconselos,  both  thou  and  our  mother  have  erred 
greatly  when  ye  claim  to  believe  that  I  need  guardianship.  I 
tell  thee,  Sefior,  I  am,  like  thyself,  a  man, — and  fully  capable  of 
taking  care  of  my  own  health  and  fortunes." 

The  reply  to  this  rude  speech  was  full  of  a  sad  solemnity. 

"Something  hath  vexed  thee,  Andres,  making  thee  unjust  to 
thy  brother  and  ungrateful  to  the  tender  fondness  of  thy  mother 
for  thy  youth.  Thou  wilt  find  it  less  easy,  when  thou  recoverest 
thy  calm  of  temper,  to  forgive  thyself  than  to  procure  her  for 
giveness  or  mine.  I  will  finish  my  letter,  making  my  own 
report  of  thy  condition,  which,  until  this  hour.  Andres,  hath 


THE   RIVAL   BROTHERS.  57 

seemed  to  all  the  island,  as  to  myself,  such  as  it  would  be  most 
grateful  to  any  mother  to  behold  or  know." 

"As  thou  wilt ;  and  yet ! — Look  at  me,  Philip  de  Vosconselos! 
— look  at  me,  ere  thou  writest  down  any  delusive  falsehood  for 
my  mother's  eyes!  Look  I  like  one  whom  the  Gods  have 
marked  for  happin. 

He  approached  the  table  as  he  spoke,  and  grasped,  with  some 
violence,  the  hand  that  held  the  pen.  Tin-  eyes  of  the  brothers 
encountered.  Those  of  Andres  were  bloodshot,  full  of  n 
and  expressive  of  a  fury  that  seemed  about  to  break  through  all 
restraint.  Philip  rose,  as  he  caught  the  fearful  expression  in  the 
other's  t'uce.  His  o\vn  fraMivs  were  cairn  and  firm,  but  filled 
with  a  tender  concern  and  sympathy,  such  as  spoke  for  the  gen- 
t!r  and  nobli-  attachment  with  whieh  the  elder  brother  regarded 
the  younger,  and  the  favorite  ot'  their  motlier. 

Ires,*1  he  vaid.  "I  know  not  that  I  am  \\  i<e.  or  like  to  be 
Micces>ful  in  asking  thy  confideiiee.  Of  late  thou  ha-t  -eem.-d  to 
regard  me  mther  as  an  enemy  than  a  brother " 

"Thou  art  !      Thou  art  !"  WU  the  wild  and  reckless  answer. 

"Nay,  I  cannot  answer  thec,  Andre-,  by  any  a  — uraiiee  in 
words.  It  becomes  not  me  patiently  to  strive  to  disprove  thy 
injustice.  I  look  upon  such  speech  as  a  s..rt  of  madiie-s.  <>\i  tin 
part,  rather  than  a  wrong  done  to  me.  Enough,  that  I  tell  th.-e 
1  am  hen-,  ready,  as  thou  ha-t  always  found  me  b<  :'  :  \e 

thy  came,  to  h.-lp  thy  prqgreM,to  light  thy  battle-    if  need 

be  " 

"I  ask  not  thy  lielp  in  battle,  Philip  de  Vasconselos.  I  am 
njual  to  my  own  dang.-r.  Hut  thou  art  willing  to  1,,-lj,  my  pro- 

•  serve  tfij  1 1    n  - .  h :" 

.!  with  all  my  >tn-ng!h,  and  all  my  heart!"  wa-  the  . 

reply. 

••  II  irken  !  wilt  thou  deign  then  to  seek  on  my  behalf,  and  to 
solicit  from  Don  P.altlu/.ir  d.'  Alvaro,  tlie  hand  of  his  niece  in 
marriage  ?  Wilt  thou  do  this.  Philip  de  Vas,-onx,.los?" 

"  Verily,  of  a  truth  will  I  do  this,  if  the  lady  hath  authori/ed 
3* 


58  VASCONSELOS. 

thee  so  to  solicit ;"  was  the  answer,  in  somewhat  subdued  AC 

cents. 

"  If  the  lady  hath  authorized  thee  to  solicit !"  was  the  mocking 
repetition  of  the  infuriate  young  man :  "  Go  to,  Philip  de  Vas- 
conselos,  I  well  know  that  thou  wouldst  not,  ay,  thou  couldst 
not,  serve  me  in  this.  Would  I  need  to  solicit  the  favor  of  the 
uncle,  were  I  sure  of  the  favor  of  his  niece  ?" 

"  Thou  wouldst  surely  not  seek  the  one,  were  the  other  den  in  1 
thee?" 

"  Not  through  thy  eloquence,  surely,  Sefior  Don  Philip,  lest 
thou  shouldst  haply  forget  thy  client's  claims  in  the  prosecution 
of  thy  own." 

"  Andres,  my  brother,"  said  the  other  calmly,  but  with  a  stoni 
er  show  of  expression  than  had  before  been  apparent  in  his  ooon- 
U.naiice, — «  it  will  not  be  easy  to  make  me  angry  with  thee.  It 
is  in  thy  madness  that  thou  dost  me  this  gross  injustice, — and  I 
forgive  it.  But  let  us  speak  no  more  in  regard  to  this  matter. 
It  needs  not  that  I  should  tell  thee  what  thou  seemest  already  to 
understand,  that  my  affections  have  been  placed,  as  \vell  as  thine. 
upon  the  same  lovely  lady.  I  deny  not  this,  though  I  have  deem 
ed  it  only  proper  that  I  should  be  silent  on  the  subject,  seeing  thy 
secret  in  the  same  moment  with  mine  own.  It  is  surely  our  mis 
fortune  that  we  have  so  loved.  But  I  resolved,  from  the  moment 
when  I  discovered  the  bent  of  thy  affections,  that  the  field  should 
be  open  to  thee  from  any  obstruction  of  mine.  I  stood  not  in 
thv  way.  I  offered  no  rivalship  to  thee, — and,  while  thou  hast 
nightly  sought  the  dwelling  of  the  Lady  Olivia,  it  was  enough  for 
me  to  know  that  such  was  the  course  of  thy  footsteps,  to  turn 
mine  in  the  opposite  direction.  This  very  night,  when  I  learned 
that  thou  wast  her  guest,  I  left  the  garden  of  the  lady " 

"  lla  !  thou  wast  there, — and  thou  hast  heard?"  was  the  inter 
ruption. 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  !  When  I  found  the  verandah  occupied 
by  thyself  and  Nuno  de  Tobar,  with  his  betrothed,  I  turned 
away  in  silence,  seeking  nothing  farther.  I  left  thee  to  thy  OWE 


RECONCILIATION.  69 

progress,  with  the  resolution  to  give  thee  all  the  opportunity; 
and,  if  success  were  thine,  to  bury  in  silence,  in  the  depths  of 
mine  own  heart,  tin;  secret  atleciion  which  has  troubled  it.  Thj 
injustice  hath  not  suffered  this " 

A  deep  groan  from  the  younger  brother  interrupted  the  speaker 
tor  a  moment.  The  latter  would  have  proceeded,  Imt  Andre- 
broke  in. 

"Enough!  Enough,  my  brother,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  re 
turning  sentiment  of  justice.  "Iain  a  madman  and  a  fool.  1 
have  wronged  thee  !  Pursue  thy  fortunes.  It  needs  not  anv 
longer  that  thou  shouldst  yield  thy  hopes  or  purp<»es  to  mine. 
This  night  hath  resolved  me.  It  finds  m  where  I  had 

hoped  most  strongly.  It  find-  me  destitute,  where  I  had  set  all 
my  fortune  OD  th-  .  I  dare  not  wish  that  thou  shouldst 

be  more  fortunate.  I  am  not  generous  enough  for  that.  Vet  I 
i  in  thy  path  no  longer.  Within  the  hour  I  have  made  a  new 
ition  ;  1  wfl]  continue  with  Hernan  de  Sota  1  will  go  with 

him  into  Florida.    In  Cuba  1  -lioiild  find  but  wreck  and  s.,rrowonlv." 
••  K  it  BO,  my  brother!"  said  Philip  sadly. 

fcj  me  not,  if  thou  would-t  not  madden  me.     Thou  knowest, 

my  pride  and  temper.  _,-t  what  is  due  to  thee 

— 1«"  '  ihv  justice,  i:  !ty.  ever  shown  to  me.  even 

\\lieu  m-    perversity  was  m«>-t.      Enough,  i;  >w  that  my  mood  in- 

thee,  to  do  the.-  right,  Philip  .  ;  to  think 

that  1  no  longer   love  thee  as  I  did.      i 

\\here  I  have   failed— where    1    have   beei:    cnislu  d    and    , 
founded    with    unexpeeted   denial.      I    fear— I    ;  .  but    f.r 

thee.  this  had  not  been  the  case,    Th..n  hast  pam  m,. 

as   th.'ii    ha-t    ever   doo  iat    thou 

sh..ul«Nt    tell    me   of  th.  .      Thou    lia-t    gi\eu    wax    to 

thou  ha-t  yielded  me  <>|'{"  Ttun;1 

anre.  it  is  like  thou  felt  that  thoi: 
I  kn-  ii  of  thy  will  and  hope,  Phi!!: 

and  fully  IxTieve  that  tli»u  ha-t  built  t: 
tidence   in   th\  .    lorLune,  which   might  boldly  give  every 

•  .iisity  to  mino         r 


60  VASCONSELOS. 

"  Thou  still  wrong's!  me,  Andres  !"  mildly. 

"  Perhaps,  perhaps  ! — do  I  not  even  wrong  myself  as  well  as 
thee  1  We  will  speak  no  more  of  this.  Enough,  that  the  field 
lies  before  thee — that  I  cross  thy  path  no  longer — that  I  go 
on  the  expedition  with  De  Soto — and  as,  most  likely,  thou  wilt 
be  successful  where  I  have  failed,  so  thou  wilt  remain  here,  and 
we  will  cast  our  shadows  no  more  upon  each  other.  W  rit  e  this  to 
our  mother,  and  say  to  her  that  my  soul  is  now  wholly  yielded 
to  the  ambition  of  conquest.  Tell  her  what  thou  wilt  of  those 
dreams  of  Dorado,  which  woo  the  adventurer  to  the  wilds  of  the 
Appalachian." 

"  Brother  - 

"  Think  not  that  I  would  wrong  thee,  Philip.  Is  it  not  enoug!  i 
that  even  in  my  passion  and  my  pang,  I  acknowledge  thy  forbea  - 
ance  1  I  blame  thee  not,  even  while  I  curse  in  bitterness  thy  1 1- 
ways  better  fortune.  It  is  thy  fortune  that  prevents  my  love, 
and  not  thyself." 

"  But  thou  dost  love  me,  Andres  T 

"  I  know  not  that ! — How  should  I  love  thee,  when  thou  hut 
been  the  barrier  to  my  love  1 — the  only  one  passion  on  which  all 
my  affections  have  been  set !" 

"  But  I  know  not  this,  Andres ;  I  have  never  spoken  wore  of 
love  or  tenderness  to  the  Lady  Olivia." 

"  But  thou  wilt  speak  both  ;  and  she  will  hear  thee,  aiW  \\ -s|  <>irl 
to  thee  in  accents  like  thine  own.  No  more  of  this,  lest  I  grow 
wild  and  foolish,  and  curse  thee,  Philip,  for  thy  better  fortune." 

"  Nay,  thou  shalt  not,  brother,"  and  he  threw  his  arms  tem'erly 
about  the  unreasonable  youth,  who  submitted  but  only  for  A  mo 
ment  to  the  embrace  ;  he  shook  himself  free  from  it  in  the  next 
instant.  Philip's  eyes  followed  him  with  a  deep  and  melan  J\o!y 
^t,  full  of  sorrow  and  affection,  as  he  saw  him  prep<  V.g 
once  more  to  leave  the  cabin. 

"  Whither  go  you,  my  brother,  at  this  late  hour1?" 

"  Forth  !  Forth  once  more  into  the  night  !" 

"Nay,  Andres;  were  it  not  better  thou  shouldst  seek  * 
sleep  *" 


THE  LOVER  AND  THE  BROTHER          61 

"  I  cannot  sloop  !  Thou  knowest  not  what  a  stifling  fullness 
harbors  here — and  here  !"  was  the  reply  of  Andres,  smiting  his 
nead  and  bosom  as  he  spoke.  "  I  must  hurry  forth  !  I  must 
nave  air  and  solitude !" 

With  these  words  he  disappeared  from  the  cabin.  Philip  de 
Vasconselos  followed  him  to  the  door,  and  his  eyes  anxiously 
pursued  the  retreating  form  by  the  imperfect  Marlight,  until  it 
had  wholly  gone  from  sight.  The  older  brother  then  returned  to 
the  table,  where,  seating  himself,  he  rested  his  cheek  up«»i 
palm,  and  sunk  into  a  fit  of  melancholy,  which  was  of  mixed 
character,  at  once  pleasing  and  painful.  The  perverse  and  will- 
ful  pride  of  his  brother,  his  suspicions  and  jealous  temper,  must 
necessarily  have  been  productive  of  great  grief  to  one  by  uh«»m 
he  was  earnestly  beloved  ;  but  it  was  in  vain  that  Philip  de  Y;is. 
con-elos  tried  ti»  stitlc  the  feeling  of  satisfaction  which  enliv. 
and  pleasantly  agitated  his  bosom,  as  he  thought  of  the  rcjec- 
tion  by  Olivia  de  Alvaro  of  his  brother's  suit.  Love  i-  certainly 
'.flhe  most  selfish  and  exacting  of  all  the  passions  in  the  heart 
of  youth  ;  perhap-  it  is  the  passion  which  most  com. 

.:  -1    >wal!ows    up    the    rest.        Philip  was  really 
fond  of  Andres;   fond  of  him  by  reason   of  natural  sympa:* 

'1    of  him    by  habit    and   association-    t'-id    of 
all  that  was  manly  in  hi-  character — proud  of  his  spirit  and  youth 
ful  beauty — fond  of  him,  on  account  of  their  mother,  and  partic 
ularly  BO,  a-,  tor  «o    long  a  time,  he  h;-d  been  the  guardian  of  hi- 
tb   and    f'-rtunes.      IJnt    hi-  heart    reproached  him  for  the  still 
•ful  feeling  of  Satisfaction,  Wfaicb  he  vainly  elide;..  -ill), 

and  which  continually   reminded   him   that,   in   this  quarter, 
there  \\;i>    \\<>    longer   an   ob-fade   to   his   own    - 
to   overcome  this  thought  that  he  proceeded  to  iv-urne  the  letter 
Ahieli  fie  had  been  writingto  his  mother  when  Andres  had  lir-t  made 
appearance..      A  few  additional  line-  only  were  written,  when 
ne  flung  the  reed  from  him  and  d-.-ed    the   portfolio.      11 
ous  system  was  in  too  much  agitation  to  Differ  him  to  coiitini: 
u*  employment  which  particularly   demanded  the  utmost   calm 


62  VASCONSELOS. 

of  the  spKt.     He  went  once  more  to  the  entrance  of  the  cabin, 
and  soliloquized,  as  ir  his  brother  were  still  in  sight 

"  Unhappy  child  of  passion  !  forever  erring  and  repenting — only 
to  repeat  thy  error  ;  what  a  destiny  is  thine  !  How  shall  I  watch 
and  save  thee,  when  it  is  ever  thus,  that  some  cruel  suspicion,  the 
oflspru'ir  Of  thy  wild  temper  and  fierce  will,  Continually  begets 
thy  hostility  against  the  hand  that  is  outstretched  in  thy  service  ! 
Thou  wilt  go  with  Hernan  de  Soto,  and  it  jnay  be  that  I  shall 
not  be  with  thee.  Ha  !  Is  this,  then,  a  doubt  ?  Is  it  so  certain  that 
mine  shall  be  a  better  fortune  with  Olivia  de  Alvaro  than  was 
thine  ?  She  has  refused  thee, — thou,  as  brave,  as  noble,  as  come 
ly  as  any  of  the  gentlemen  of  Castile  !  Will  she  be  more  likely 
to  hearken  me  ?  It  is  possible  ;  and  J  have  a  hope,  a  hope  in 
which  I  gladden — though  I  shame  to  own  it, — based  upon  a  broth 
er's  denial  and  defeat!  Is  there  reason  for  this  hope1?  Do  I 
not  delude  myself — does  not  Nuno  de  Tobar,  when  he  encour 
ages  my  passion,  does  he  not  delude  me  also  1  The  thought 
that  I  too  shall  be  scorned,  makes  it  easy  to  pardon- the  violent 
passions  of  my  poor  Andres.  Well!  We  shall  shortly  see  ! 
Now  that  he  no  longer  pursues  the  quest,  it  will  be  for  me  to 
know  what  is  my  fate.  A  few  days,  and  it  may  be  that  I  also 
go  with  thee,  my  brother,  into  the  wild  forests  of  the  Apalachian. 
And  yet,  *were  there  other  fields  of  venture,  Hernan  de  Soto 
should  have  no  help  of  mine,  lie  hath  favored,  rather  than 
frowned  upon,  these  jealousies  of  his  Spanish  followers.  They 
hold  me  in  their  hate,  if  not  their  disesteem  ;  and  envy  me  the 
very  skill  and  knowledge  upon  which  they  build  somewhat  for 
their  Impe  of  Bucoess.  Let  Olivia  but  smile  upon  my  prayer, 
and  1  fling  them  of!',  with  as  little  regard  as  1  would  fling  off  the 
most  worthless  thing,  in  my  dislike  or  indifference  !" 

\Vr  need  not  follow  Philip  de  Vasconselos  in  his  soliloquy. 
Knough  is  givt-n  to  show  the  temper  of  his  mind  and  character. 
\Ve  \\ill  leave  him  to  his  slumU-rs.  such  as  he  may  snatch,  in 
•;he  brief  interval  which  now  remains  between  the  midnight  and 
tne  dawn;  while  we  retrace  our  footsteps  once  more  to  tc.j 
dwelling  of  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro. 


THE   GUARDIAN   AND   WARD.  6S 

It  might  have  been  an  hour  after  we  saw  him  retiring,  silently, 
from  his  place  of  espionage  among  the  groves  which  surrounded 
the  verandah  where  his  niece  had  received  her  guests,  that  we 
find  him  returning  to  the  same  spot.  But  it  was  no  longer 
to  find  concealment  and  to  play  the  spy  that  he  now  appeared. 
His  step  was  set  down  firmly  and  fearlessly,  and  4iis  lips  parted 
with  a  pleasant  catch  of  Castilian  song,  as  he  drew  near  the 
shrubbery.  Don  Balthazar  was  no  mean  musician.  With  no  sen 
sibilities  such  as  are  vulgarly  assumed  to  be  absolutely  necessary 
to  musical  endowment,  he  was  held  to  be  something  of  a  master, 
and  could  shape  corresponding  melodies  to  the  most  difficult  dit 
ties,  with  a  readiness  not  unlike  that  of  the  Italian  improvisator?. 
His  song  on  the  present  occasion,  which  might  have  been  a 
spontaneous  utterance  for  aught  we  know,  was  sufficiently  loud 
to  be  heard  within  the  dwelling.  But  it  did  not  reach  the  senses 
of  Olivia,  who  lay  stretched  upon  the  divan,  upon  which  we 
beheld  her  sink  suddenly  at  the  departure  of  Andres  de  Vascon- 
selos,  under  the  burden  of  a  nameless  sorrow,  for  which,  with 
Beauty  in  her  endowment,  and  Devotion  at  her  feet,  it  would  be 
very  difficult  to  account.  She  In-held  not  the  entrance  of  her  uncle, 
and  yet  she  slept  not.  Her  eyes  were  open,  but  the  glance  was 
vacant;  'the  sense  was  shut.'  It  was  fixed  within,  upon  the 
struggling  pas-ions  of  her  own  heart,  and  took  no  heed  of  exter 
nal  objects.  !)<>n  Baltha/ar  approached  her — he  stood  before 
her — he  spoke  to  her,  yet  she  heard  him  not.  lie  paused  quiet 
ly,  and  surveyed  her.  Very  peculiar  was  the  character  of  that 
glance  which  he  Vstowcd  upon  the  lovely  outline  and  perfect 
beauty  of  the  features  within  his  gM/.-.  It  might  be  pride  and 
exultation,  such  a-  a  tat  her  feels  beholding  the  unsurpassable 
charms  of  a  favorite  daughter.  But  there  was  something  still 
that  was  eijuivoeal  in  the  ,-\i  r.  --ion  of  his  features.  There  \\a- 
a  mysterious  significance  in  that  look,  at  once  of  steady  and 
ciiviim-pert  watch,  yet  of  eagernc^  and  .-ati-faetion.  which  baflled 
the  curiovity  that  it  continued  to  provoke.  Some  moments 
were  consumed  in  this  serpent-like  gaze,  and  all  the  while  she 
remained  absolutely  unconscious  of  his  presence.  She  was  only 


64  VASCONSELOS. 

aroused  from  this  unconsciousness  as  he  sat  himself  quietly  be 
side  her,  and  folding  his  arms  about  her  waist,  lifted  her  \\ith  an 
air  of  great  affection  in  his  embrace.  Then  it  was  that  she 
started,  looked  wildly  about  her  for  a  moment,  and  then,  distin 
guishing  the  intruder,  fixed  upon  him  a  countenance  expressive 
of  any  feding  but  that  of  tenderness  or  regard.  In  an  instant 
the  full,  quick,  keen  vitality,  came  like  a  flood  of  light  into  her 
great  dark  eyes;  her  lips  quivered,  and  were  suddenly  elosed 
fast,  as  if  with  sudden  resolution.  She  started  from  the  cush 
ions,  and  shook  herself  free  from  his  grasp,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
viper. 

"You!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  suspicion  and  apprehen 
sion. 

"  Even  so,  Olivia.  Who  else  ]  But  what  now  ?  Why  this 
passion  1  What  has  vexed  you  ?  What  startles  you  ?" 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?"  she  asked  wildly. 

"  But  this  moment,"  he  answered :  "  1  thought  you  slept." 

She  drew  a  deep  sigh,  as  if  suddenly  relieved. 

"  It  is  late,"  she  said  ;  "  1  will  retire." 

"  Late  !  what  of  that  ?  Have  you  any  cares  for  to-morrow  '? 
Sit,  my  beauty,  and  tell  us  who  have  been  your  guests — who 
hath  been  here  ?  What  are  your  tidings  ?" 

"1  have  none,"  she  answered  coldly  and  timidly,  still  moving 
to  retire. 

"Now.  saints  and  demons!  what  is  in  the  ehild  !"  In-  ex- 
elaimed,  as  he  endeavored  onee  IIK-IV  to  detain  her  in  his  grasp. 
She  shrunk  from  him  with  a  visible  shudder.  A  heavy  scowl 

UT  his  forehead,  and  he  spoke  with  closed  teeth. 
What!  still   in   thy  Biscaynn   temper?     Nay,  nay,  my  pre- 
s  one,  thou  shalt  not  leave  me  thus." 

"Suller  me  to  go,  uncle,"  she  entreated,  as  h  •  raught  her  hand. 

"  Why,  so  I  will,  when  thou  hast  answered  me  what  has  put 
thee  in  this  temper  again  ?  Methoilght, when  I  lel\  thee  last,  that 
thou  ludst  been  sobered' — hadst  grown  wi-er.  What  has 
wrought  thee  into  this  passion,  at  a  moment  when  brave  eavn- 
liers  grow  humble  in  thy  train  ?  Or  dost  thou  repent  thee  for 


A   WATCHFUL   PROTECTOR.  66 


having  dismissed  with  denial   this  famous  young  gallant  of 
toga 

What    a   char.::.-   in  her  aspect    followed   this  speech  from  his 
lips!      But  a  monu'iit  before  sin-  exhibited  aversion.  hut  it 
coupled  with  timidity  and   a   feeble,  tearful   appivhen>ion.      In  a 

•    the    timidity  .  —  the    tear  —  tlie    nppivhev 

Ibr  eyea  Hashed  full  with  indignation  as  she  replied  :  — 

UWhat!    thoil     hast   {U/aill    descended    to  the  oil;, 

Thou  hast  once  more  placed   thy-df  in  secret  \\avli  upon 

t  upon  thy  actions  child—  not  upon  thec,  hut  upon   those 
the,-.      I  know  thy  danger  from  thrse  iraHants,  and 
it    is   in  !    I   fear  them,   my  Olivia,  that    1   keep   v 

thy  guardian  —  thy  protector.  child  -  " 

.'tempt  to  take  her  hand  as  h«-  >p..ke. 
>t,"  she  cried.     -()),.  wolf  assigned  to  keep  the 
lamb!" 

-  What  wouhlst    thou   have,  cliild  ?      It   is  stirely  n.-r.mil   that 
I  ho]  1  ,-ver  present  in  mind  the  treasure  that  I  am  set    to  keep." 
fiend  !  and  tlmu  smiPst  a>  thou  speak'st  thu-  drea.lfullv/' 
..  not  a  fiend,  Olivia,  only.  I   ^r;n,t  you.  n,,t    exactly 
an  :M  gel     Believe  me.  I  amn«»t  awhit'worse  than  m«»<t  othcrn- 
aThou  slinderesl  thy  : 

'*  No,  truly,  no.    M,M  guardiana,  having  sucfa  prcci..u^  n-,.., 
in  their  k«-.  -piu^.  wcuhl  take  care  of  I-  M  I  have  done,     Have  I 

'.    my  child—  as   tenderly,  as   eh  -:,;1U 

ure    before   mine    own    ejetl      Ah. 
M  if  I  loved  thee  leas,]  had  been  spoiled  of  th.-e  bef 
It  IN  in  n,\    :  .  (  Mivia,—  —  " 

"  n1'-  criu-I  taunts  !  What  i:ain  is  U 

toth.-eiiow.  that  thou  -houhi-t  add  a  '      If  to 

tiope,  why  jibe    me    ever  with    thi-   \tm1 

\\  hy    hold    before    mine    ej6fl    tlu-    terrib!  of   the  woe 

n;ist    pl;r  ever  in  my  soul  .'    1-Wh.  ar  thv  mockeries. 

r  me  to  leave   th«-e  —  suifer  me  to  sleep  —  sleep--sleep  !  if 
this  be  possible  to-night." 


66  VASCONSELOS. 

"  Nay,  I  would  not  mock  thee,  Olivia.  I  but  speak  to  thee  the 
language  of  a  sober  truth.  I  do,  indeed,  love  thee,  my  child — 
love  thee  as  my  own — would  have  thee  ever  as  mine  own,  and 
thou  mightst  see  in  this  fondness  the  secret  of  that  distrust  which 
dogs  the  heels  of  all  others.  Give  not  way  to  this  blindness  ami 
madness,  which  can  profit  neither  thee  nor  me,  and  sec  the  love 
which  I  feel  for  thee,  my  child !" 

"Peace!  Peace!  thou  maddenest  me  when  thou  t-dkv-st  to 
me  of  thy  love !" 

"  A  truce  to  thy  passion,  Olivia.  Thou  art  not  wise  ir  'ts 
indulgence.  It  spoils  thy  beauty.  It  takes  too  much  from  thy 
charm  of  face,  as  it  disturbs  the  peace  of  thy  heart.  Thus  niflK « I. 
thou  remind'st  me  painfully  of  thy  Biscay  an  mother,  who  was  fiercer 
in  her  wrath  than  the  hurricane  of  these  tropic  countries.  She 
would  suddenly  grow  convulsed  like  thyself,  with  a  tempest  that 
threatened  everything  with  destruction ;  but  she  was  not,  as  thou 
art,  capable  of  soothing  all  down  again  to  the  most  beautiful 
repose !" 

"Her  passion  were  much  the  most  fitting  to  mate  with  ihine  ! 
O !  would  that  she  were  here!  Mother!  O!  mother!  \Vhore 
art  thou  now  ?  See'st  thou  thy  child — into  what  hands — into 
what  late  she  has  fallen — without  hope — as  one  who  dr.-wns, 
with  all  the  seas  upon  him,  and  no  strength  to  struggle  upward 
into  life0 

She  threw  herself  once  more  upon  the  cushions  of  the  divan, 
her  face  downward.  One  single  sob  escaped  her,  but  one.  for 
at  that  moment  the  hand  of  I  >.,n  ttaltha/ar,  in  seeming  tender 
ness,  was  placed  upon  her  neek.  Ills  touch  seemed  to  recall  the 
more  i'u-ry  feeling  with  which  she  had  at  first  received  him.  She 
started  up,  and  repulsed  him  with  a  spasmodic  fiercoi 

-Thv  toueh  is  like  BO  much  poison!  Beware,  lest  I  go  mad! 
Thou  wilt  drive  me  too  far,  as  if  thou  had-l  not  already  driven  in 
to  perdition  !  Canst  thou  not  pity— wilt  thou  not  spare  me7  I 
have  been  weak— I  know  that  I  am  weak  still— but  I  feel  that  I 
have  a  strength  in  me  that  may  become  fearful  for  mischief,  :f 
pot  for  good.  Uncle,  it  were  better,  far  better,  ere  you  roust, 


A   DISAPPOINTMENT.  67 

that  strength   into  exercise,  that  you  sh  mid  drive  your  daggei 

•tli  of  our  hea 
The  brow  c.f  Don  Balthazar  WM  contracted  ;  but  a  determined 

•  t  disputed  the  cloud.  His  rdle  was  that  of  conciliation. 
He  was  not  unwilling  to  acknowledge  and  to  respect  that  fearful 
strength  which  she  averted  herself  to  possess,  though  latent.  He 
felt  that  lie  had  gone  too  far.  lie  had  given  her  no  credit  for 
tha;  :  of  which  she  was  now  making  a  fearful  exhibition. 

N  ieed,  had   he   hitherto   found   any  reason   to  su>peet  the 

pre~.  e   energies.     She  had  hitherto  borne  her 

self  so  mildly,  if  not  feebly,  that  he  had  come  rather  to  slight,  if 
not  to  despise,  the  weakness  of  a  nature,  which  had  been  almost 
wholly  controlled  by  his  superior  will.  That  he  had  been  so 
.1  hitherto,  in  this  respeet,  was  due  to  cau-es  already 
glanced  at — the  seclusion  of  her  mode  of  life,  her  extreme  youth, 
and  her  imperfeet  edueation.  The  instincts  of  her  heart,  suddenly 
springing  into  birth,  had  opened  to  her  eyes  a  new  survey,  and 
filled  her  soul  with  a  consciousness  not  less  overwhelming  and 
opprosive  than  strange.  He  was  beginning  to  discover  the  full 
extent  of  her  developments,  when  it  was  perhaps  too  late.  Re- 
•.s  a  child,  a  pliant  creature  in  his  hands,  he  had  but 
too  much  given  way  to  that  satirical  temper  which  marked  his 
,-haraeter.  It  was  now  his  aim  to  <o..>;he.  He  was  not  prae'i 
in  this  art,  but  In-  >erioiisly  addre^ed  him>elf  to  the  endeavor. 
Olivia,  thon  art  HUM  perver-e  to-night.  Is  it  at  the 
moment  when  I  am  mo-t  grateful  to  thee,  that  tlnui  woiildst  re- 
pulse  my  acknowledgments  .'  I  do  but  M-ek  to  show  how  greatly 
I  pri/.«-  that  dutiful  allection  \\hich  alone.  I  doubt  \\<  '  used 

dismiss  this  young  and  insoU-nt  knight  of  Portugal.'' 

laim.-d.  interrupting  him  with  a 

hitter  lo,,k  and  a.-eent,  which  i-tK-i-tually  interpreted  into  xe..niful 
irony  the  two  wo.-,U  whi«-h  slu-  had  borr..wed  from  his  speech. 
"And  WM  i'  not  'hi<.  • 

•  r.  let  this  folly  cea^e.      There  is  no  policy 

in  thi>  hvpoi-risy.     Th-m   ean-t    de,-ei\e    me   no  longer.      I  hawe 
no  need  to  deceive  thee.     We  know  tach  other.     Thou  knowetrt 


68  VASCONSELOS. 

me — thou  hast  sounded  the  hollows  of  my  heart,  and  the  kno* 
ledge  thou  hast  .gained  has  been  fatal  to  all  my  hopes.  Thou 
knowest  that  I  owe  thee  neither  duty  nor  affection — that,  if  any 
thing,  I  owe  thee  hate  only — an  unforgiving  hate  that  should 
dream  of  nothing  but  revenge.  But  I  have  no  such  dream. 
Give  me  but  peace — such  peace,  at  least,  as  may  spring  from 
thy  forbearance,  and  if  I  meet  thee  with  smiles  no  longer,  I  shall 
at  least  assail  thee  with  no  reproaches.  I  rejected  the  suit  of 

Don  Andres  de  Vasconselos  simply  because alas!    why 

should  I  furnish  thee  with  a  reason  for  this  rejection  1  Enough, 
that  it  was  with  no  regard  to  thy  interests,  or  thy  desires,  that 
I  was  moved  to  decline  his  prayer." 

"And  yet,  that  thou  didst  so,  is  a  great  gain  to  me,  as  well  as 
to  De  Soto.  Failing  thee  and  thy  hacienda,  this  knight  will  now 
be  ready  to  seek  for  a  slower  fortune  amongst  the  Apalaehian 
of  Florida.  We  had  lost  him  but  for  this.  He  and  his  brother 
lM,th — that  more  wily  adventurer — had  set  earnest  eyes  upon 
thy  possessions.  I  doubt  not  that  they  knew  well  the  number 
of  thy  slaves  and  acres,  and  the  exact  annual  product  of  thy 

lands." 

"Oh!  be  silent,  Scfior — be  silent,  for  very  shame.  It  befits 
not  thee,  least  of  all,  to  impute  such  sordid  passions  to  these 
noble  gentlemen." 

Even  at  this  moment,  when  fully  convinced  of  the  necessity  of 
roiiciiiation,  and  really  desirous  not  to  offend,  the  habitual  sneer 
of  the  uncle  obtained  tlu-  nseendeney. 

-And  thou  persuad.-t  thyself— though  I  wonder  not— that  it 
is  thy  charms  alone  which  have  wrought  upon  the  alU-etions  of 
these  knights  of  Portugal." 

The  sarcasm  smote  sharply  on  the  woman  sensibilities  of  tin? 
damsel.  She  replied  instantly: 

'•I  think  not  of  it!  1  would  that  I  could  think  of  neither  them 
nor  thee.  Small  pleasure,  indeed,  do  I  find  in  thinking  of  thee, 
and  smaller  the  profit,  in  such  condition  as  is  mine,  in  .riving 
thought  to  knight  or  nd.le,  on  whose,  seuteheon  there  rests  no 
st-un.  Why  wilt  thou  madden  me,  with  these  things?  If,  for  a 


FATI1KKLV    AKKKCTION.  H 

moment.  I  h:i\e  been  weak  and  vain  enough  to  think  of  any  noble 
man,    Heaven   knows    how   suddenly  and    soon   my   own 
in-art  lias  smitten  me  for  tin-  guilt  and  folly  of  such  fancies.    But 
if  the  deadlier  tongue  of  1  not  speaking  ever  at  my 

•his  lanuuaiie,  there  w.  re  rebuke  sufficient  in  the  conscious- 
•hat,  whate\er  .-perch   is  addressed  to  my  ear,  must   be 
by  thine; — that  even  did   I   presume  to  love,  or  to 
to   the   pleading  of  a  lover,  the  precious  sweetness  of 
stieh  intercourse  must  In-  without  secret  or  security.     Thy  watch 

r  upon  my  footsteps,  and  thy  miserable  spies " 

••  \  ...      ;t   thou  wrong'  iiild.     I   have  set   no  eyes  to 

watch  tlu-e  but  mine  own,  and  mine  watch  thee  only  because  thou 
art  so  precious  in  their  sight." 

She   gave  him  but  a  single  look,  so  cold — so  freezingly  sad. 
that  he  felt  all  its  profound  scorn  :md  denial. 

•  i  »f  a  truth.  (  Mivia,  it  is  so.      lladst  thou  been  my  own  child, 

I  could   Hot    have   loved   thee   1 

ither!  M.-thcr!  Hear  him  !  Alas!  wherefore  was  I  not 
thine  own!  That  might  have  secured  me  from  this  fate'  And 
yet.  1  know  not  !  I  know  not  what  thou  holiest  sacred  !  I  know 
not  \\l-t  could  ha\  -.»tr  in  thy  hands,  from  thy  bad  and 

brutal  nature.  (  MI  !  Srfior  Hullhaxar — I  will  call  thee  no  more 
mine  und. — when  1  look  upon  the.  now,  with  eyes  fairly 

opened  upon  thy  cruelties    and    crime. — I    feel  a  doultt,  a 
le-t  1  be  in  tin-  power  of  tome  fearful  cmis-ary  of  the  enemy  of 

uho-M-  -iud\   i<  how  to  cut  me  olf  frmu  repentai. 
\at'or.      Motlicr  of  (lod,  he  merciful!      ,l.-u.  d.  -eriid  to  i. 
Dover  me  with  thy  holy  shelter.     Oh!    1  feel  that  I  -hail  madden, 
the  white    -pints  \\hom  I    pray  f..-r  >haU   come    <juickly  to 
my  aid  !" 

A   pa— ion   of  tear-   foli(.\sed    this  wild   ap- 

\\hat  reii«-ve.i  the  -\\olleii  heart  and  the  overburdened  brain.  Don 
Balthazar  felt  thai  he  must  j-aiise.  He  did  not  dare  to  ad.ln-<s 
her  in  the  moment  of  the  pan '\\MII.  He  waited,  watcliing  her 
patient! v,  till  her  tear-  flowed  fiv.-Jy,  and  then  subduing  him-elf 
to  his  jHtliey — his  bitter  reckl«---  iD"«'d  to  the  : 


70  VASCONSELOS. 

him,  and  with  which  he  felt  that  it  would  not  do  to  trifle  farthei, 
— he  carefully  adapted  his  speech  to  the  task  of  soothing.  In 
some  measure  he  succeeded.  She  grew  calmer,  and  milder,  and 
he  now  approached  her  where  she  sat  upon  the  divan,  and  with 
out  interruption,  save  from  her  sobs  occasionally,  continurd  the 
glozing  speech  which  was  to  quiet  her  anger.  She  answered  him 
but  seldom,  and  then  capriciously — sometimes  witli  t-.-ars  <>nl\, 
and  again  with  some  burst  of  indignant  speech,  that  drove  him 
back  to  his  first  positions. 

"  Oh!  why  wilt  thou,  dearest  Olivia,  give  way  to  these  pas 
sionate  phrensies?  of  what  profit  to  conjure  up  such  wild  and 
gloomy  reflections'?  They  nothing  help  your  situation  or  mine. 
They  restore  us  nothing  that  is  lost,  but  tend  rather  to  embittei 
the  only  consolations  that  remain  to  us." 

"  What  are  they  ?"  she  asked  fiercely. 

"  To  economize  the  better  feelings.  To  forgive  where  we  cai. 
— to  spare  when  we  can " 

"  Ah !  I  owe  thee  much  for  thy  forbearance. '; 

"  I  feel  that  I  deserve  thy  chiding ;  but,  dearest  child,  I  will  do 
better.  I  will  give  thee  no  cause  for  anger  henceforward  Only 
be  merciful. — I  owe  thee  much,  Olivia, — mueh  for  the  past.— 
That  thou  hast  sent  off  this  young  gallant  with  denial,  leaves  mo 
to-night  with  a  light  heart." 

"  And  mine  !  mine  is  breaking  1" — was  the  wild  finish  which 
her  lips  sobbed  out  at  the  conclusion  of  his  sentence.  The  deep 
despairing  agony  of  her  manner  admirably  suited  the  language 
of  her  lips. 

"Nay,  nay,  my  child;  not  so!  The  world  is  but  begun  with 
thee.  There  is  sunshine  for  thee,  and  flowers  in  abundance.  Thou 
wilt  forget " 

"  Never  !  never !  Oh  !  would  it  could  break,  break  at  once, 
that  I  may  feel  no  more  this  terrible  struggle — tins  pang  that  is 
worse  than  death!  But  its  doom  is  not  to  break.  There  mu>t 
be  more  agonies.  I  must  undergo  many  deaths, — and  that  blight 
of  all — that  accursed  bitter  blight !" 

The  picture  of  her  grief  was  beyond  all  practice.     There  could 


AN    UNWELCOME    I' A  KENT.  71 

be  no  question  of  the  terrible  earnestness  of  HIT  woe.  With  her 
face  buried  in  the  cushions  of  the  divan,  she  lay  silent  or  sobbing, 
•vithout  an  effort  to  move,  until  1  more  to  i 

her  up.     Again  she  betrayed  that  shuddering  horror  at  his  touch, 
which  she  had  shown  several  times  In-fore ;  and,  firmly  repulsing 
him,  she  again  abandoned  herself  to  her  affliction-.      IT    — thing 
ta  vain,  or  only  offered  new  provocation  to  her  sorrows 

''Olivia,  dearot  child,  wherefore  now  this  unwonted  pas>ion  ? 
What  grief  hast  thou  now,  that  thou  hadstnot  yesterday,  and  the 
day  before  ? " 

"  Ay,  Sefior,"  she  answered,  with  a  fearful  vehemence,  "  and 
last  week,  and  months  agone,  even  to  thai  dark  and  damnable 
hour,  when " 

And  she  closed  the  sentence  abruptly,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hand-  as  she  did  so,  as  if  to  shut  from  sight  some  ten  il.le 
nee. 

-Olivia— dear  child!" 

••  ( 'hild  me  not!  1  am  not  thy  child.  Thou  hast  known  me  as 
a  child  only  to  crush  me  as  a  woman.  Away,  I  entreat  thee — 
let  me  never  see  thee  more.  If  thou  wouldst  not  drive  me 
into  absolute  phrensy,  I  implore  thee  to  forbear — to  depart  lor- 
It  is  those  days,  those  weeks,  those  months,  when  in  mv 
ignorance  and  weakness,  I  had  not  felt  t1 

them  now,  to  which  I  owe  them  all !    Blot  these  out,  Senor,  from 
my  memory!   make  me  foruet  them,  I  command   thee,  or   ! 
Hid    thrust    it   into  this  heart,  which  th.-u  ha-t  !'. 
with  death  and   misery.      Do  it.  uncle — do  it,  if  thou  hast   one 
rfc    of  the    man  within    thy    bosom — if,  indeed,  thou   h;i.xt    .me 
feeling  of  pity  in  thy  soul  for  the  poor  orphan  whose  sin-  .: 
milk  from  the  same  box,,m  with  thy  own." 

•lutched  at  the  \\.-apon  in  his  girdle,  and  w  -      '.    h  ive  seiz- 
.  .1  it,  ! .ut  that  he  grapple  1  her  by  the  wrist,  an  1  held  her 

"  <  Mi  !   thou  shuultl*t  do   it   -such  a  blow  would   never  si 
thy  dagger.      If  thou   wilt    D  M   never 

more.      If  thou  canst  not    bring  me  the   forget  full  less   I   implore. 
thou  art  my  bane  only,  ami  eanM  briu  :  no  remedy.  \ 


72  VASCOXSELOS. 

of  soothing  I  despise.  As  I  live,  uncle,  I  loathe  thy  presence. 
Thy  voice  sounds  iiissingly  in  mine  ears.,  like  that  of  the  serpent, 
who  carries  a  deadly  poison  beneath  his  tongue." 

The  inspired  priestess,  drunk  with  the  sacred  fury,  never  looked 
so  sublimely  fearful.  Her  great  flashing  eyes,  lighting  up  the 
paleness  of  her  cheeks — her  widely  distended  nostril,  her  lofty 
and  erect  figure,  and  the  wild  but  beautiful  action  of  her  frame, 
actually  seemed  to  confound  and  overwhelm  her  companion.  He 
spoke — but  how  feeble  now  were  his  words  of  soothing — his  en 
treaties — his  arguments ! 

"  Olivia !  This  is,  indeed,  wilful.  Of  what  avail  now  all  this 
horror,  this  professed  loathing  ]" 

"  Professed !  Oh  !  Man,  man  !  Vain  man  !  What  seest 
thou  in  me  at  this  moment,  to  make  thee  dream  that  I  could  say 
anything  that  1  do  not  feel !  But  of  what  avail  thou  ask'sf?  Of 
what  avail,  indeed,  except  for  curses — perhaps  for  death !  But 
that  the  grief  can  bring  no  relief  is  sufficient  cause  for  suffering. 
Could  it  avail — could  anything  avail — would  I  suffer  thus1? 
Would  I  seek  no  remedy  ?  Would  I  not  go  through  the  fur 
nace  in  its  search,  and  gladly  give  up  the  life  which  is  tutored 
to  reconcile  itself  to  all  manner  of  sin  and  sorrow,  as  it  is  made  to 
see  that  nothing  can  avail !  Oh  !  Blessed  Virgin,  if  my  lips  may 
now  be  permitted  to  name  thy  name,  and  to  appeal  to  thee,  what 
hast  thou  suffered  me  to  see  1  In  the  brief  space  of  a  single  week 
mine  eyes  have  opened  to  the  truth.  I  behold  now  what  1  neither 
saw  nor  dreamed  before.  Oh  !  Senor, — brother  of  my  wretched 
father,  what  hast  thou  done!  Thou  hast  slain  the  very  hope — the 
life  of  hope  and  happiness  of  his  only  child,  given  to  thee  in 
bU-ssings  and  in  sacred  trust,  all  of  which  thou  hast  trampled  un 
der  foot  in  scorn." 

"  Not  so,  dearest  Olivia.  Thou  seot  this  matter  through  a  false 
medium.  The  evil  is  not  of  the  magnitude  which  thou  deem'st  it. 
Who  is  there  to  betray  our  secret  1  Who  is  it  that  knows " 

"  Is  it  not  enough  that  /  know,— that  /  feel— that  the  dreadful 
consciousness  is  crushing  me  to  the  earth,  making  my  soul  a 
thing  of  constant  tear,  and  apprehensions  the  most  terrible?" 


OLIVIA'S  INDIGNATION.  73 

The  wisdom  of  Don  Bahha/ar  was  again  at  fault.     lie  could 
not  forbear  a  remark,  which,  however  true  in   ;  ,  the  suk 

ject   "f  lu-r  «::•!.  ts,  was  yefr  very  unseasonably  referred  to  in  the 
piv-M-nt  condition  of  her  feelings. 

.  ia,  this  ilivailful   coiiM-iousness  of  whieh   thou  sprakest, 
ne\.  wd  thee  until   tliine  eyes  beheld  this  Philij 

Hi-ware — my  child,  lest  " 

The  fearful   spirit  was   n.usod   again  within  her.     She  did  not 
suffer  liim  to  finish. 

to    thee,    Balthazar   do   Alvaro,    unworthy   and 
nerooa  brother.  ba<e  and  eruel  guardian — shameless  and  |>er 
jmvd  man — do  thi.n  beware  !      If  1  am  to  be  cni-di, 
by  thee.  I  will  not    be  reproached  or  threatened    by  thre  !      '1 

-t  justly,  in. Ire.l,  that  until  I   beheld  this  knight  of  Portugal, 

I  did  Dot   well    OOIK»ive    the    full    extent  of  the  wrong  which    thou 

•t    done   me.      That    thy   perfidy,  thy  stealth,  thy  eunnini:,  thv 

f"'1"-'  •'!.!  fatal    power,  \\hi.-h  had  wrought  upon   me 

in  moments  of  oblivion,  had  done  me  the  cruellest  of  evils,  I  well 

know  !      My  tean,  mj  reproaches  have  not   been  spared,  as  thou 

well   knowest.  from  the  beginning!     But  of  the  awful  t 

which  thou  wert    the   sole   cause,  1   had   little   knowledge.      Mine 

U   thou  sayest,  with  the  moment  of  mv 

I      Oh!   make   not  i 

I,y  .-ompellinj:   my  tongue   to   n-p.-at    that   name.      It    I 
only  \\h,-n    1    kn.  w    him    that    1    began    darkly  and    I 
know  myself.      1  th.-n.  tor  i!  tjlr  tt.,T; 

M  if  from  the  dt-pth- 

It  i-  in  th»-  birth  of  \\hat  hid   been  my  blessing  and  mv  jov,  that 
I  am  madi-  terribly  -f  what  ifl  ,,,y 

curse!    K;.-  irh  !    It  is  wonderful  ttat I  hai  for  this!    P.ut 

thy  wanton  malice   hat!  Boodl  of  mv  indi 

•  Jght  !     Let  u 

ail(|  •      I    :im    "o    i  ild.—l.lin,]^  w.-ak.  ^ul>- 

ii  my  iiii  thing  Of 

"lilt  in   whH).  II,, 


74  VASCONSELOS. 

witness,  1  had  no  share  !  I  am  a  woman  now.  I  have  riser;  to 
the  highest  intelligence  of  woman,  only  through  despair.  I  now 
know  thee  for  what  thou  truly  art — base,  brutal, — and  oh  !  shame 
on  thy  pretence  of  manhood,  with  a  corrupt  selfishness  that  would 
Keep  me  still  a  victim  !" 

"  Olivia !" 

"  Follow  me  not — touch  me  not — look  no  more  upon  me — if 
thou  art  wise,  and  wouldst  not  see  me  a  maniac  beneath  thine 
eyes,  raving  aloud  to  the  abashed  people  of  thy  and  my  misera 
ble  secret." 

Thus  speaking,  with  arms  extended  as  if  for  judgment,  and 
eyes  flashing  almost  supernatural  fires,  she  waved  him  passion 
ately  aside,  and  defying  the  obstruction,  which  he  was  too  much 
paralyzed  to  offer,  darted  headlong  from  the  apartment 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  Now  wil  these  damned  conspirator*  'gainst  Virtue 
Make  surh  felonious  tralTic  of  her  s.-rvanls, 
As  move  the  night  to  shudder  ;  cause  her  fair  planets 
To  Mush  with  secret  passion  that  tht-y  may  not 
Come  down  with  holy  succor  I    Oh  1  that  angels 
Might  put  on  arn.or  when  they  would,  ami  strangle 
The  em-my  ere  he  strikes." — Tine  PARRJCTD*. 

f:    m    -':jht    before    lu>   recovered   himself.     He 

stood  aba-!  •:•-•'!  rather — pale  and  almost  trembling,  at 

. -tt-il  fur\   In-   had    awakei.ed.      At    Ungth,  but  slowly, 

he  began  to  reeover  himself;  and  his  gathering  thoughts  betrayed 

diem-elves  in  broken  s< >lilo<juy. 

"This  gr.>\\-    mor.  .      It    mu<t    be    looked   to.      It  is  a 

hfd  by  the  -hortr>t  inrth<»d.  if  it    passes  not  oflf 

.  thr  n-M.      I'ut  I  must  |in-]»ari'  myself  t«>r  the  worst.     She 

must  not  br  snll'.-rrd   to  destroy  me.  rv.-n   if  she  to  dc- 

i'.    1  must  cure  these  Tioleno  km  -  ami  I  will." 

UN    hand,   perhaps   mieon  eioii-!  the   handle    of   his 

A  moment  aftrr.  h«-    -« •;/. -d    hurriedly  thr  light,  and  left 
the    room,    pursuing,   at    (ir>t.  the  .\hirh  Olivia  had  en 

tered,  as  if  abi.ut  to  ;  '-<>  in  the  direction  of  lur  eliand.er; 

paused  a!m«»>t  a»  >oon  a>  he  had  eiitei'cd  i1.  :d)oiit, 

'nto  the   apartment    \vhieh   he    had   left 

opi-nii  [  M  tlie  opposite  wall,  entered  another  passai: 

din-ting  lo  hi>  own  ihami  'leg  the  light  down  upon 

a  table,  he  threw  himself  into  a  light  ehair  of  ba:  u.  and 

with  so  litt  :.d   BO   hea\i)y.  that    the   slight  wicker   framo 

of  the   lal.i  i  and  tin-  <n\k  beneath  his  \-. 

"  I  was  a  fool,M  he   said,  .so|i!...jni/ing   inoo«lily.      "1  was  but  a 
fooj  to  (X3nfrt>nt  her  in  her  paroxysm.     It  is  then  that  she  hath  A3 

7* 


76  VASCONSELOS. 

little  measure  in  her  anger  as  her  fierce  Biscay  an  mother.  Yet 
how  lately  hath  this  sort  of  fury  developed  itself  in  IKT.  How 
wonderfully  to-night  did  she  resemble  her.  There  was  the  same 
dark,  fiery  eye,  sending  out  sudden  flashes ;  the  same  sudden 
swelling  of  the  great  vein  across  her  forehead,  till  it  seemed  big 
to  bursting;  the  same  show  of  the  teeth,  gleaming  white,  d 
set,  and  gnashing  at  moments  the  thin  lips  that  seemed  to  part 
and  turn  over,  like  those  of  a  hungry  tiger.  What  a  resemblance  ! 
I  never  saw  the  like  before.  Yet,  when  I  beheld  the  likei 
that  I  should  have  dealt  in  the  old  saivasm  ;  that  I  should  not 
have  forborne.  I  should  have  known  enough  of  the  mother.  i«» 
have  waited  for  the  moment  of  her  exhaustion.  Who  takes  the 
fish  will  do  wisely  not  to  thwart  him  in  the  struggle.  Why 
should  he  not  struggle,  since  it  avails  nothing m^ainst  his  capture  .' 
He  is  so  much  the  sooner  in  the  toils.  Let  h.m  beat  the  water 
while  he  lists,  until  it  becomes  easier  to  die  than  to  strive.  Such 
is  the  true  art  of  dealing  with  women  in  their  passion,  especially 
when  they  carry  tempers  of  such  intensity.  It  is  in  her  exhaus 
tion  only  that  she  yields;  and  the  exhaustion  comes  the  sooner 
where  the  flurry  is  so  extreme.  With  opposition,  she  finds  new 
strength  ;  but,  taken  in  the  lull,  with  fondness  or  persuasion,  Mid 
she  cannot  help  but  yield!" 

lie  paused,  rested  his  elbow  on  the  table,  and  supported  his 
brow  upon  his  hands  for  a  while  in  silent  meditation.  A  few  mo 
ments  oiih  passed  thus  ;  his  mood  was  too  much  excited  for  quiet. 
He  started  up  from  his  seat,  and  again  instantly  resumed. 

"Something  has  gone  wrong,"  he  muttered.  "She  hath  dis 
covered  something  of  the  secret.  How  much,  it  behooves  that  1 
should  know.  She  knows  the  worst,  that  is  certain  ;  but  can  she 
have  found  out  the  agencies?  I  must  summon  Anita.  That  hag 
of  hate  hath  not  betrayed  me,  I  know.  She  too  much  loves  tin- 
evil  to  do  aught  which  should  prevent  its  exercise.  She  t<>.» 
much  hated  the  mother  to  be  merciful  to  the  daughter.  She  hath 
too  willingly  served  me  in  this  matter  to  have  repented  of  her 
share  in  the  performance.  But  she  may  have  kept  her  secret . 
loosely ;  she  may  have  been  watched  ;  that  Olivia  has  suspected 


THK    r.MVKl'SAL    PANACEA.  77 

her,  I  know  ;  and.  with  suspicio:.  tkened,  an  intense  spirit 

will  be  rieeptaoi  till   it   makes  discovery.     I  mu>t  lee  -md  <  I 
ine  her." 

He  touched  a  tassel  depending  from  tin-  wain>eot ;  then  rt 
ed  his  soliloquy,  pursuing  another  train  of  thought 

"These  accursed  knights  of  Portugal  !      They  vex  me 
side.     She  hath  dismissed  one  of  them,  but  he  is  no  K-<>  a  trou 
ble.     Will  he  stay  content  with  one   rejection?     T; 
dr,  ply  filled  with  the  one  image,  and  of  rare  arrogance, — an 
easily  satisfied  with  denial  ;  but  I  will  yet  put  my  foot  upon  their 
necks;  or,  failing  in  this.  I  .shall  thrust  my  dauirer  to  their  h. 
Every  man  is  haunted  by  some  viper,  or  spider — n 
tile,  or  spiteful   insect.     These  are  mine!     Yet,  but  for  this 
derful  change  in  her.  they  should  not  give  me  cau-e  ,,f  fear.      Hut 
yesterday,  so  meek;   and  now,  a  tigiv^  !     \\YII.  there  is  always, 
at  the  worst,  one  remedy,  and  ///«\  cannot  fill  i 

Thus  speaking,  he  drew  forth   his  dagger  from    th<-  sheath, 
contemplated  the  weapon  darkly  a*  he  spoke.      Tin-re  was  t! 
his  manner,  and  the  cold   intelligence  in   his  rve.  dunn^  this  sur 
vey.  which  denoted  the  reckless  hardihood  ,,f  a  nature,  originally 
cold  and  selti-h.  and  \\hieh   had    berii   tJmroughlv  indurated   by  a 

.:  and  terrible  criminal  experience.      It  is  not  for  us  t« 
in  his  histon.  and  recall  the  events  of  a  life  whi.-h  hav, 
lute  connection  with   the   pn.giv^s  \\hich   is   bet;, re    tia       l^iou^h, 
that  the  j.aM.  ODOe  kiDwn.  would  1,-ave  us  little  d«ubt  of  the 
indiflmooe  uith  whi.-h  the  bold,  bad  man  before  US,  would  school 
himself  to  the  execution  of  any  crimes  which  it  became  hi 
to  eontemplate.     See  him  as  he  turns  the  dai^er.  ft]  .   hia 

finger  over  the  mst«pOli  that  darken  it-  point,  and  d..t  ; 
freely  upward  on  both  rfdwi      A  fierce  smile.— a  dettk»iac   -rin 
appears  upon  his  face,  as  he  makes  the  survey,  and  tells  a  sumYi 
cut  story. 

"Ay,  it  is  there  oill  !"  he  muttered—  -  precious   proof  of  my 
revenge !      Little   did    Nicolas    de    Vergaray    fin^y,    when 
triumphed  over  my  heart,  that  I  should  sc  soon  find  th- 


VASCONSELOS. 


his !  I  would  not  cleanse  the  bright  steel  which  his  blood  had 
t Hinted.  I  preferred  that  the  stains  should  forever  remind  me  of 
my  triumph  at  the  last ; — ay,  in  the  moment  when  he  fondly 
fancied  he  had  all  to  himself  the  happiness  which  he  had  despoiled 
me  of !  He,  at  least,  enjoyed  it  only  in  his  dreams !" 

The  door  opened.     The  soliloquy  was  arrested.     He  restored 
the  dagger  to  its  sheath,  and  looked  up  at  the  intruder.     This 
was  an  old  woman  of  about  sixty,  a  mestizo,  a  cross  of  the  negro 
and  the  red-man.     She  combined,  in  very  equal  degree,  the  most 
conspicuous  characteristics  of  the  two.     She  had  the  high  cheek 
bones,  the  thin  lips,  the  full  chin,  the  glossy  dark  flowing  hair  of 
the  Indian,  with  the  retreating  forehead  and  flat  nose  of  the  black. 
Her  eyes  were  of  the  sly,  sharp,  gipsy  cast,  the  brows  quite  gray, 
and  thus  in  singular  contrast  with  her  hair,  which  was  quite  as 
black  as  in  the  days  of  her  childhood ;— if,  indeed,  days  of  child- 
^ood  had  ever  been  known  to  her !    She  had  not  the  appearance  of 
Due  who  had  ever  been  a  child.     The  wear  and  tear  of  vexing  pas 
sions  had  scarred  her  face  with  every  sign  of  premature  old  age. 
Her  skin  wa*  a  scries  of  wrinkles,  like  the  ripples  of  spent  billows 
tipon  a  gradually  rising  shore.     Her  teeth  were  gone,  with  the 
exception  of  a  couple  of  very  sharp  snags,  that  stood  out    in 
front,  between  her  thin  lips,  like  those  of  a  squirrel.     She  had  nc 
,lesh  upon  her  bones,  and  her  clothes,  thin  and  light,  according 
.vith  climate  and  season,  hung  upon  her  skeleton  form  as  if  from 
i  peg  upon  the  wall!     A  gau/e  han.lkerehief,  wrapped  imper 
fectly  above  her  neck,  suffered  her  skinny  bosom  to  appear,  but 
without  increasing  her  attractions.     Her  figure,  thus  betraying 
the  signs  of  age,  was  yet  singularly  erect.     Her  step  was  firm, 
though  stealthy.     You  saw  that   she  set  her  foot  down  firmly, 
though  you  di'.l   not   hear  if.  ami,  though  moving  with  caution, 
she  was" yet   quit*  of  movement.     She  did  not  wait  for  a  sum 
mon«,  but  advanced  at  once  to  her  master,  and  stood  up  before 
.Vim ;  her  eyes  lighting  up  beneath  the  gray  brows,  like  lamps  of 
naphtha  in  sepulchral  caverns. 

"  Give  me  some  wine,  Anita,"  was  his  first  salutation, 


ANITA.  79 

She  brought  it  forth  from  a  eupbnard,  and  j>Iacod  it  before 
him;  a  fh-k  m  wieker-work  of  straw.  The  goblet  was 

brought  at  the  same  moment.     She  said  nothing. 

"Get  another  goblet  for  yourself,  Anita,  and  sit !" 

She  did  as  she  wa<  .  ..mmande.l,  <mietly,  and  without  hesita 
lion  ;  as  if  to  ..U-v  \\a-  a  thing  of  course,  and  she  had  been  ac 
eii.-toiiud  to  all  manner  of  commands. 

Don  liakhazar  lilK-d  his  glass,  and  swallowed  the  contents  at  a 
single  gulp.  He  filled  it  a  second  time,  and  seated  it  before 
Urn. 

"Drink,"  said  he,  "Anita." 

She  did  as  -he  was  bade,  emptied  the  goblet  as  soon  as  fill. -d, 
and  her  eyes  glittered  with  a  humid  light,  pale  and  intensely  spir 
itual.  After  a  paQM,  in  wh'uh  she  seemed  wholly  to  wait  on  his 
words,  he  spoke : 

•'  Well,  has  she  been  trouK 

"  No !"  was  the  brief  reply,  in  the  short,  shrill,  yet  soft  manner 
of  the  red-man. 

"  It  is  strange  !  She  has  been  showing  me  the  image  of  her 
mother,  as  we  both  have  seen  it  often,  in  other  davs;  you,  in  par- 
tieulnr,  Anita!" 

The  eyes  of  the  woman  glared  with  an  expression  of  hatred, 
which  was  al»<>lutely  fiendish. 

"She  sh.iws  the  blood,"  he  continued,  "as  I  never  saw  it 
shown  before  !  Pmt  h«>\v  is  it  tli  ,•  ,-$  not  sleep?  Has  she 

ate — has  she  drank  ?'' 

••  Yes ;  l,,it   not   miieh  !      Very  little!     She  •>.     She  is 

'.      She  thinks  something  wr<  | 

This   wax   ^pokeo    ill   a    itit'-ia  .-..mmnn   to  the   ju-rsons  of  her 
but  we  do  not  to  imitate  her. 

"Something  more  than  thinks,  I  fancy!  She  knows.  II. .w 
ha^  dh 

"  I  don't  know  that  >h«-  ha-  di^-nvered  anything.  She  said  to 
me  once,  about  a  week  ago,  that  she  wondered  why  she  felt  so 
drowsy  every  day." 

"  AK!_ana  you  7  n 


80  VASCONSELOS. 

"  I  wondered  too  !     That  was  all !" 

ki  There  is  something  more.  Are  you  sure,  Anita,  that  sh<>  has 
not  found  you  sleeping  ?  Are  you  sure  that  you  have  not  hap 
pened  upon  a  flask  of  canary  at  the  wrong  moment  ?" 

"  No !" 

"  Well !  I  am  sure  that  she  has  matV.  some  discovery !  The 
question  is  what  ? — and  how  much  1  Sta  knows  the  worst-  lhat 
is  certain." 

The  woman  grinned. 

"  But  does  she  know  by  what  means  vre  have  worked  1  You 
say  she  eats  and  drinks  little.  Is  this  only  the  lack  of  appetite, 
or  does  she  suspect  her  food  ?" 

The  woman  avowed  her  ignorance. 

"But  she  ate  and  drank  yesterday?" 

"Yes;  but  very  little." 

"  Did  she  seem  affected  afterwards  ?" 

"  Very  little !  She  was  drowsy.  She  took  her  siesta ;  but 
when  I  carne  in  to  look  at  her,  she  rose  up." 

"  Can  she  have  become  accustomed  to  it  already  ?  Does  :J 
cease  to  affect  her  ?  You  must  increase  the  dose,  Anita." 

"  It  may  kill  her !" 

"  Hardly !     How  much  do  you  give  her  now  ?" 

The  woman  took  a  small  phial  from  her  bosom  and  held  it  up 
io  the  light.  It  contained  a  slightly  greenish  liquor.  She  desig 
nated,  with  her  finger  upon  the  phial,  thp  quantity  given. 

"  That  should  be  enough,  certainly !  But  if  she  refuses  the 
draught — rejects  the  food !  That  is  the  question.  The  next 
question  is,  whether  she  refuses  from  want  of  aopetite,  simply' 
You  must  change  the  food,  Anita.  Tempt  her  aopetite.  Get 
some  new  dishes,  and  forbear  the  drug,  until  her  suspicions,  if 
she  have  any,  are  quieted ; — say,  for  the  next  three  days  Mean 
while,  be  vigilant,  and  see  that  you  are  not  surprised.  You  note 
all  who  approach  her1?" 

"All!" 

"  Now  is  the  time  for  circumspection.  She  loves  this  knight 
of  Portugal." 


THE    CONFEDERATES.  81 

"She  has  just  refund  him." 

;  the  younger  brother.     But  the  other " 

"He  comes  seldom." 

"  But  is  not  the  less  powerful  when  he  comes.     They  must  b« 
closely  watched,  when  together.     He   must  not  be  suffered  to 
propose  to  her  without   interruption.     If  you  find   him,  at  any 
time,  when  I  am  aWnt.  1  >ee< uning  too  impressive,  show  yourself, 
and  stop  the  progress.     In  that  man  I  see  my  bane !     She  loves 
him.      How  has  she  concealed  it  from  you1?" 
The  woman  answered  by  a  vacant  stare. 
"  Ah !  I  see !    There  are  some  things  quite  too  subtle  for  you, 
Anita.     But,  let  there  be  nothing  which  escapes  your  watch.    If 
necessary,  you  must  increase  the  potion." 

"  Unless  you  mean  to  kill  her,— no !  She  now  takes  as  much 
as  can  be  safely  given." 

"Yes,  if  she  takes  it  all!     But,  when  she  refuses  to  eat  and 
drink,  or  does  so  sparingly,  then  more  may  be  given.    You  must 
not  forget  what  you  owe  her  mother." 
The  eyes  of  the  \\<>man  glared  fearfully. 
"  You  have  not  forgotten  your  own  daughter?" 
Anita   seised    the   flask,  unbidden,  and   again   filled   the  glass 

h'T.  which  she  emptied  at  a  draught. 

"To-night,  I  hav,-  leeo  the  mother  in  the  daughter!  She  has 
all  her  pasMons,  though  M  yet  Suppressed.  Sh.-  will  give  us 
trouble,  unl.-ss  we  take  h«-«-d  to  her.  Our  danger  is  in  the  passion 

which  she  frt-ls  f,,r  this  Portuguese  knight — the  elder,!  mean not 

the  younger.     She  oarefl  nothing  tor  him.     If  I  can  get  them  both 
Florida,  or  otherwi>e  disposed  "f.  all  may  go  well  ;   and 
she  may  Mib-idc  into  h«-r  old  Irth.vjv.     II,  r  pa--i»n  for  him  : 
br..i:Lr|,,  ,,,,t  a][  h,.r  ,,,},,.,-  |,;i^i,,ns      They  IIIM'K  ant  and 

tii  -light  ful.     They  ijuiek.-n  lu-r  intelligence.     She  is  not  the  HU 
woman  >he  was  a  month  ago.    She  is  no  longer  in  my  power,  or 
in   yours.      If  we  herd    iii.t.  -he  \\ill    dtCSJM    BS,      Si.  rry 

.iiese.     She  vill  CXJ...M-  us! " 

The  woman  grinned  with  exultation. 

"She  dare  not'      !        .  to  t.-ll n 


82  VASCONSELOS. 

"Very  true;  but  you  remember  that,  when  her  Biscay  an 
mother  was  aroused  to  passion,  she  had  no  prudence  !  She  re- 
vealed  every  thing  !  It  will  be  so  with  Olivia.  I  am  sure  of  it, 
from  what  I  have  seen  to-night.  That  is  our  danger.  Let  her, 
in  this  paroxysm,  be  assured  that  all  her  hopes  of  this'  Portu 
guese  knight  depend  on  escape  from  ««,  and  she  will  rush  into 
the  market-place  with  all  her  secrets!  She  will  destroy  herself 
in  the  fury  which  would  destroy  us.  And,  Anita,  if  she  can  win 
belief,  she  will  not  so  surely  destroy  herself.  We  know  that  she 
is  guiltless,  in  her  soul,  of  any  crime  ;  —  we  know  that  the  whole 
wrong  is  ours  !" 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  shame  ?" 

"  Is  something  in  Spain  •  not  so  much  here  !  and  pit}  and 
sympathy  will  lessen  it  anywhere!  We  must  beware  of  any 
extremity.  Now  is  the  time  for  all  your  subtlety,  if  we 
would  be  safe.  See  to  it;  observe  her  closely;  see  that  she  and 
this  knight  of  Portugal  —  the  elder,  mark  you  —  from  the  younger, 
indeed,  we  have  no  cause  of  fear  —  do  not  meet,  unless  under 
your  eye  or  mine;  and  that  they  do  not  come  to  any  understand 
ing.  We  must  keep  them  from  mutual  confessions.  They  both 
love  passionately;  but  bettor  /or  us  that  they  were  both  dead, 
than  that  either  should  speak  of  passion  to  eaeh  other's  ears! 
Let  her  but  hear  and  answer  him.  and  >he  is  happy,  Anita  —  hap 
py!  think  of  that,  Anita!  —  think  of  that!  How  will  you  relish 
to  see  the  daughter  of  that  mother  happy  in  the  arms  of  her 
lover,  while  you  are  led  off  to  prison,  knowing  the  fate  of  your 
won  daughter  —  the  debt  of  thirty  years  unpaid;  while  your 


"Tell  me  of  him  !      Have  you  heard?"  was  the   ea^-r  inquiry 
xof  the  woman,  who,  during  the  speech  of  the  other  —  whi<-h  irafl 

evidently  designed  to  goad  h«-r  passions  into  phrensy.  —  had  risen 

from  her  sear,  and    moved   hurriedly,  with  clasped   hand 

H  intense  agitation,  over  the  floor. 

"Tell  me  of  him!     Of  Mateo;  —  have  you  heard,  my  master?" 
She  approached  him  closely  as  she  made  the  inquiry,  and  bent 

Jier  face  forward,  almost  touching  his  own.    Her  words,  earnestly 


NEFARIOUS    PROJECTS.  83 

and  imjT  -poken,  were   yet  in  such  subdued  accents  as 

barely  to  be  audible  to  his  ears. 

"II.    b    \-  :    in  the  mountain  fastnesses,  and  at  the  head  of  a 
formidable  band.      I    have    sent  to  him  by  a  special    messes 
I  have  M-iit  him  ni(  • 

••Thanks,  my  master,  thanks!  But  have  you  got  his  pardon 
from  the  adelantadof 

"Not  yet  !  Hut  if  we  ean  g< -t  the-e  Portuguese  knights  fairly 
pledge.!  for  Florida.  1  -haii  BOCOeed  withSoto,  or  failing  with  him, 
shall  do  M>  wiih  IWia  Isabella  when  he  is  departed." 

"You  will  not  go  with  the  expedition?" 

"  Until  this  night,  I  had  iv-olved  upon  it.  Now,  my  resolution 
is  half  taken  the  other  way.  There  is  too  much  to  care  for  here. 
i  mii-t  sec  to  her!" 

"Happ\!      She!'1    muttered    the   woman:    "Ha!    ha! 
1  am  living  here  for  nothing.      A-  if  I  had  no  memory  to  make 
-ul !" 

"  Drink,  Anita." 

The  hag  willingly  obeyed.     The  instincts  of  black  and  red  man, 
combined  within  her,  made  it  ea<y  to  comply  with  such  an  order. 
Vi'lien  >\\e  had  finished,  her  eyes  glittering  with  a  moist  white 
her  companion  said — 

•  Ami  JIMW  watch!     She  must  eat  and  drink.     If  she  will  not 
as  you  provide,  put  tiling-  in  her  way  to  tempt  her.     I.< 
closets  open  to  her  search,  only  prepare  what  ye  put  there.     In 
crease  the  do 

"  It  will  kill  her,  if  she  eats  or  drinks.     But  what  then  ?     Let 

The    light   redden*  in  the  vindictive  woman's  eye. 

Don  Balthazar  regarded   ln-r  coldly  and  (juietly  for  a  mon. 
then,  as  if  inditfcriTitly,  remarked — 

"No!  not  yet — not  that!  it  might  peril  everything — it  might 
subject  us  to  •  — " 

The  woman  approached  him  <ortly}  and,  with  a  significant  lift 
ing  of  tho  linger,  said,  whimperingly — 

tt  No  fear  of  that.     I  have  a  potion  which  shall  so  silently  steal 


84  VASCONSELOS. 

Into  the  brain,  that  none  shall  suspect.  It  will  leave  no  foot 
print,  no  finger-inarks, — no  blood,  no  blackness,  no  sign  behind 
it,  yet  will  it  seize  upon  the  life  as  surely  and  as  suddenly,  as  if 
the  dagger  had  been  driven  right  into  the  close  places  of  the 
heart.  Say  but  the  word " 

The  dark-souled  man  shuddered,  as  he  heard,  and  saw  the 
fierce,  eager,  intense  glare  of  the  speaker's  eyes.  lie  said  hur 
riedly — 

"  No !  Anita !  no !  I  will  not  that.  I  will  that  she  should 
live— live — yes ! — the  time  is  not  yet  come  !" 

"It  is  as  you  say  !  Yet  had  I  not  forborne  to  give  her  this 
poison,  but  that  thou  hadst  in  thy  power  a  more  terrible  death  ! 
I  had  rather  thou  shouldst  slay  her — thou,  of  her  own  blood: — 
and  I  saw  thee  do  it." 

"I  slay  her,  Anita  !  Thou  art  mad  !  I  tell  thee,  I  would  not 
touch  her  life,  for  the  world,  if " 

"  Ay,  if, — if  she  saves  thee  not  the  danger  and  the  trouble.  But 
it  was  the  life  of  the  heart  and  the  hope,  and  the  woman  that  I 
beheld  thee  bent  to  slay,  and  thy  poison  was  so  much  more  fatal 
than  mine  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha !" 

"  Oh  !  get  thee  hence,  Anita  !  The  wine  begins  to  work  in  thee. 
But  help  thyself  to  another  goblet,  and  to  sleep  now.  Thy  watch 
has  been  a  weary  one." 

The  woman  yawned  at  the  suggestion,  filled  the  gol.let,  drank, 
and  was  about  to  retire  without  a  word,  when  she  seemed  to  re 
collect,  and  again  spoke,  as  usual,  in  those  low,  subdued  tones, 
which,  when  employed  to  utter  passionate  language,  are  so  sin 
gularly  impressive. 

"  Do  not  forget  Mateo  !  let  me  see  him  once  more — bring  him 
to  me — and  I  will  drug  for  thee  a  thousand  lives  !" 

Balthazar  took  her  hand  and  wrung  it  warmly,  nodded  his  head 
affirmatively,  but  said  nothing.  The  woman  went  away,  without 
obeisance  or  farther  nod. 

"  Well,  let  the  worst  COMIC!"  muttered  the  Senor,  after  she 
had  departed,  "and  Anita  has  her  own  remedies.  If  it  cannot 
be  otherwise,  let  her  use  the  potion.  She  can  burn  afterwards  to 


AN   ANTIDOTE   FOR   LOVE.  86 

prove  me  guiltless.     But  the  time  is  not  yet — not  yet     May  it 
r  be.     I  would  escape  that  necessity,  if  I  can !" 

He  seated  himself,  folded  some  strips  of  the  fumous  Cuban 
together,  and  lighted  an  extempore  cigar,  and  still  he  solilo- 
Balthazar  de  Alvaro  was  a  cold,  unscrupulous  villain  •, 
hut  though  his  thoughts  ran  upon  crime,  it  would  be  an  bynstfoe 
lo  him  now  to  suppose  them  dictated  by  hatred.  It  was  not  from 
my  sentiment  of  hostility  that  he  pursued  his  victim,  as  his  Ian 
guage  fully  testified. 

"  It  may  kill  her  ;  true  !  What  then  ?  It  will  not  hurt  her ; 
nay,  it  will  help.  It  will  save  her.  The  quality  of  her  offence 
is  not  such  as  will  bring  down  punishment  upon  her  head  :  and 
the  wrong  she  sutlers  may  well  atone  for  that  which  she  has  done. 
If  heaven  be  no  fable,  she  is  more  worthy  of  its  pity  than  ita 
loathing  ;  and  if  hell  be  not  a  dream  of  the  priesthood,  as  J  deem 
it,  then  my  tate  must  assure  her  of  a  full  revenge!  Let  these  be 
her  consolation.  At  all  events,  I  must  seek  mine  own  safety.  She 
must  die,  if  needful  to  secure  this  !  yet,  we  may  escape  this  ne- 
OMrftj.  If  we  can  chain  her  tongue,  my  fears  perish;  and  if  my 
fears  perish,  she  may  live.  Time  will  show.  I  must  have  time. 
Let  this  old  hag  but  prove  faithful,  and  all  may  yet  go  well. 
These  Portuguese  knights  disappear  with  the  expedition.  I  must 
see  to  that.  I  must  move  Soto  to  show  better  favor  to  this 
Philip  de  Vasconselos  than  he  hath  yet  done.  He  must  encour 
age  him  ;  must  give  him  some  distinctions — some  command — and 
win  him  fr-.m  the  paths  of  love,  by  opening  Letter  glimpses  to 
tho-e  of  ambition." 

But  we  nerd  not  pur>ue  the  meditations  of  the  subtle  and  "ndd 
criminal  who  sit-  and  muses  before  us.  They  conduct  us  no  tar 
ther  in  pursuit  of  the  clues  which  are  already  in  >ur  grasp. 


CHAPTER    Vil. 

•*  ftr,  in  my  heart  there  was  a  kind  of  fighting 
That  would  not  let  me  sleep  ....  Rashly — 
And  praised  be  rashness  for  it ! — I,ot  us  know, 
Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well, 
When  our  deep  plots  do  pall  ;  and  that  should  teach  us 
There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough  hew  them  how  we  will." — HAMLBT. 

THE  moment  that  Olivia  reached  her  own  chamber,  she  threw 
herself  prostrate  before  a  fine  portrait  of  the  Virgin  that  hung 
against  the  wall  of  the  apartment.  She  uttered  no  prayer,  no 
sob,  no  sound ;  shed  no~tear ;  gave  no  outward  sign,  beyond  her 
prostration,  of  the  object  of  her  quest,  or  of  the  agony  that 
preyed  upon  her ;  asked  not,  in  language,  for  the  peace  and  se 
curity  which  she  sought,  but  lay  at  length,  her  humility  and  grief 
apparent  only  hi  the  one  action,  as  if  with  the  conviction  that 
all  her  woes  were  known ;  her  contrition ;  the  shame  from  which 
she  suffered  ;  the  faint  hope  which  she  dared  not  encourage ;  the 
fond  passion,  which  she  felt  to  be  pure  as  grateful,  but  which  her 
conscience  bade  her  not  to  entertain.  She  did  not  once  look  up 
to  the  benign  and  blessing  features  of  that  Mother  of  Love  and 
Mercy,  whose  eyes,  she  yet  felt,  were  looking  sweetly  and  ten 
derly  down,  even  into  the  secret  recesses  of  her  own  full  and 
bursting  heart.  And  thus  she  lay,  prone,  motionless,  as  if  her 
life  and  breathing  had  ceased  in  the  utter  prostration  of  her  hop< 
and  person. 

There  is  something  very  touching  in  the  spectacle  of  a  person 
totally  ignorant  of  religion  as  a  subject  of  thought  and  examina 
tion,  who  yet  welcomes  it  as  a  faith ;  who  believes  with  sponta 
neous  consent;  who  receives  it  as  a  mystery;  seeks  not  to  ana 
lyze  or  solve  it ;  prefers  it,  indeed,  as  a  mystery,  and  confides. 

H 


OLIVIA'S  FAITH.  87 

without  misgiving,  to  all  its  promises!  Though  wealthy,  and 
of  high  birth  and  connections,  Olivia  de  Alvaro  was  as  little 
versed  in  the  doctrines  of  the  theologian,  as  the  simplest  peasant 
of  the  country.  She  knew  not  that  there  was  anything  needing 
to  be  understood.  She  simply  frit.  Her  faith,  as  perhaps  U  tin- 
case  always  with  the  most  pure  of  heart,  was  based  wholly  on  the 
sympathies,  and  a  natural  sense  of  weakness.  It  was  a  thing  of 
instinct,  not  of  thought,  and  it  reached  her  through  a  sensuous 
medium.  Better,  indeed,  as  it  was  so.  Doubting  her  strength. 
her  safety,  and  the  good  faith  of  those  around  her.  she  had  no 
doubt  as  to  whom  only  and  certainly,  she  could  turn  for  refuse. 
We  may  smile  at  her  securities;  we  may  hold  her  choice  of  the 
medium  of  communication  with  Deity,  to  be  a  mistaken  one; 
but  her  confidence  is  unimpaired;  and  regarding  the  object  sought 
only — peace  of  mind — reliance—confidence; — the  end  was  quite 
to  the  full  attained,  in  her  case,  as  if  the  visible  Saviour  of  man 
kind  stood  before  her.  Nor  are  we  permitted  to  doubt  that  the 
benevolence  of  God  accepts  any  medium  of  communication,  with 
himself,  which  a  pure  faith,  however  mistaken,  may  honestly 
adopt.  To  suppose  otherwise,  would  be  to  accuse  his  justi< •«•. 
making  feebleness  and  ignorance  objects  of  punishment,  equally 
with  offence  and  guilt. 

Suddenly,  while  Olivia  still   lay  in  this  position,  the  d< 
her  chamber  opened;  and  a  person  entered — a  ^irl  «>f  >i\!,-»-n  or 
eighteen — a   mulatto,  who  had  been  evidently  ju^t   an.iiM-d  from 
her  slumber-.     She  came  in  yawning;   her  tare  vacant,  her  . 
still  heavy  with  sleep.      Her  features  were  of  a  ><.rt  to  -how 
sleep  was  not  necessary  to  impair  her  intelligence.     They  v. 
coarse  and   meaningless.     She  was  one  of  tho-e   mulatto,^.  jn 
whom  the  more  slugiri>h  characteristics  of  the  ne^ro  race  [in- 
dominated   over  all    others:    and   united,  in    ^ingulai  'he 
qualities   of  cunning,    with   an    excessive    stolidity.      Olivia    r 
at  her  approach,  seated    herself  upon  a  little  settle,  and   loo 
up  into  the  face  of  tin    mulatto  with  eyes  of  inquiry,  if 
hope.     The  suggestion  oeeunvd   fo  her  for  a  moment — '-(an  1 
possibly   make   use   of  this    creature?      Is   she   capable   of  the 


88  VASCONSELOS. 

degree  of  faith  and  sympathy  which  I  need  in  my  present 
strait]"  The  inquiry  was  a  natural  one.  Every  young  damsel 
inclines  to  put  trust  in  her  waiting  maid,  and  in  this  relation 
Juana  stood  to  her  mistress.  But  the  latter  had  too  long  had 
experience  of  the  characteristics  of  the  maid-servant.  She 
was  not  ignorant  of  her  cunning,  but  she  had  good  reason  to 
believe  that  this  was  all  pledged  to  the  service  of  her  uncle, 
through  the  medium  of  the  old  hag  Anita,  who  was  the  grand 
mother  of  the  girl.  As  for  her  affections  and  sympathies,  these 
Olivia  had  never  yet  been  able  to  awaken.  She  had  been  indul 
gent  and  considerate ;  had  bestowed  her  gifts  freely,  but  beyond 
the  single  moment  in  which  they  were  bestowed,  she  had  no 
proof  that  the  benefit  was  remembered  with  gratitude.  The 
blank,  indifferent,  stolid  features  which  she  surveyed  were  full  of 
discouragement,  and  after  a  brief  examination  of  them,  the  un 
happy  damsel,  with  a  sigh,  averted  her  eyes,  abandoned  her  pur 
pose  of  solicitation — if  she  had  entertained  any — and  submitted 
to  be  disrobed  in  profound  silence.  The  girl  was  not  disposed  to 
break  this  silence.  She  performed  her  task  drowsily.  It  was 
not  a  protracted  one:  and  this  done,  she  retired  for  the  night, 
leaving  her  mistress  alone,  once  more,  to  commune  with  her 
own  sorrows. 

"  There  is  no  hope !"  she  exclaimed,  mournfully,  sitting  in  her 
night  dress  where  the  maid  had  left  her,  her  hands  folded  upon 
her  lap,  and  her  moist  eyes  looking  vacantly  up  at  the  Virgin 
with  an  expression  of  the  most  woeful  self-abandonment. 

"  Yet  why  should  I  hope !  What  is  there  to  hope  ?  What 
have  I  to  live  for?  The  light  is  gone,  the  love !  I  dare  not 
love.  It  is  criminal  to  love.  It  is  now  criminal  to  live !  Yet, 
Mother  of  Mercy,  I  dare  not  think  of  death.  I  cannot  die !  I 
would  not.  Yet,  it  is  not  because  I  fear !  Oh  no !  Yet,  if  it  be 
not  fear,  can  it  be  hope  that  makes  me  unwilling?  Oh!  weak 
and  miserable  sinner  that  I  am,  am  I  dream  to  unite  the  fate  of 
any  brave  cavalier  with  mine?  Shall  I  glide  like  a  serpent  into 
the  bosom  of  so  noble  and  gentle  a  knight  as  Philip  de  Vasconse- 
los,  and  beguile  him  into  love  for  so  base  a  thing  as  I — I  that  live 


TlIK    CONFLICT.  89 

a  lie  to  God  and  a  loathing  to  myself!     Shall  I  who  know  all 

"iat    I   am— and  who  hate  my  own  knowledge — shall   I   delude 
sueh  as  In-  in?"  a  faith  that  I  am  worthy  of  his  embrace  and 
Ala*!   if  love  alone  could   make  me  worthy,  then  were  it  not 
imsermly  that   I  should  do  so.     Oh!  I  could  requite  his  j 
with  a  fervor  and  a  truth  that  should  leave  him  nothing  to  re- 
;md   nothing  to  regret!     To  grow  to  him — to  cling  to 
:iim  forever — to  pass  into  his  very  heart — to  drink   life   and  joy 

•  fn.m  his  lips!— what  a  dream  of  happiness!     Oh!   why 
lo  I  eheri-h  this  drvam  ?      Am  I    ba-e  enough  to  hope,  or  to  toil 

fulfilment  ?     Can  I  do  so  great  a  wrong  to  so  noble 
il-rnan?    Down,  foolish  thought !     Hi- still!    What  is  the  wrong  ? 
1  ••    I  -iot  I..ve  him  ?     Will  I  not  love  him  trulv  a<  in-v.-r  v.-t  was 
A  night  beloved  by  woman  !    Kn«»w>  he  aught — will  he  ever  kn«»w 

•f  what  hath  happM  to  me?    will   it  lessen  his  trust  or  mv 
Idelity  .'     Who  dare  -peak— who  reveal  the  terri:  ' — not 

ie — my  unele — my  fate!    my  eternal   eii-'inv!    wh<»m Marv. 

3iiith«T.  take  the  wild  thought  from  me! — whom  I  -mii-times 
J-el  it  in  my  heart  to  slay,  even  while  he  sleeps  upon  his  couch 
.ind.-r  the  noonday  1. 

And.  vpraking  thus  passionately,  she  threw  her  more 

the  pi. -lure  of  the  Virgin,  whom  ^he  invoked,  a*  with  the 

.  to  silence  her  tumultuous  pa^ions.      But  the 

:  not   hers.      Her   -<>ul  WM   in 

too  \vi!d  a  c»aifliet  to  l>e  sul.dued  to  quiet,  unless  by  a  miracle  of 
Other   reMODfl  I'.r  this  <-.,nfliet  and  thi-  weak- 
lie^.      Tli,.   unhappy  Lrirl  was   really  feeble,  and    in  want    • 
tenanee.      W,'  h.t\,     1,,  ;,nl  it  intimated   that    she   probably 
taiin-d    su-pieions  with   n-ganl   to   the  food    -  !I.T.      Such 

^hr  n.  .w  fl  i  was  dr:: 

h«   knew  with  what   eriiel   object.      She  left  miieh   of  it  un- 
ta-trd.  pating  "iily  in  the  n-ve^jt y  of  lif.  •.  oi.ling  all  those 

with  whieh   she    had    rOMOfl  to  }„ 

to  be  mixed,    II-  T  eauti.«n  and  :  .-e  had  not  always  a 

for  her  ,  ,1   by  the  dex 

terous  agent  employed  in  drugging  it,  that  the  drug  had  been  in- 


90  VASCONSELOS. 

troduced  into  fruits  even,  the  integrity  of  which  one  would  sup 
pose  could  not  be  invaded  unless  by  some  external  proofs  being 
apparent.  In  this  way  only  could  she  account  for  the  dream  v 
and  prostrating  moods  which  she  had  occasionally  felt  during  the 
day.  Here,  then,  was  a  young  woman,  of  high  birth,  proud  con 
nections,  and  ample  fortune,  an  unsuspected  prisoner  in  her  own 
dwelling,  denied,  virtually,  the  necessary  aliment  of  life.  Truly 
the  case  was  a  pitiable  one ! — Olivia  de  Alvaro,  sustained  during 
all  the  scenes  in  which  we  have  beheld  her,  chiefly  by  the  inten> 
ity  of  her  excitements,  was  now  near  to  fainting  from  absolute 
want  of  food. 

The  cravings  of  nature  were  not  to  be  withstood.  She  rose 
from  her  prostrate  position ;  seizing  her  lamp,  which  she  shaded 
iiarefully  with  a  handkerchief  on  all  sides  but  one,  she  cautiously 
opened  the  door  of  her  chamber  and  entered  upon  the  j 
which,  more  or  less  directly,  conducted  to  almost  every  apart- 
ment  in  the  house.  Adjoining  her  own  was  a  small  room, 
not  much  more  than  a  closet,  which  had  been  assigned  to  the 
waiting  maid  Juana.  Into  this  she  looked  boldly  ;  intending,  if 
the  girl  were  yet  awake,  to  speak  to  her  of  some  object,  any 
but  that  which  she  really  had  in  view.  But  the  girl. 
pected,  from  a  previous  knowledge  of  her  habits,  already  slept 
profoundly.  She  closed  the  door  cautiously  behind  her,  and, 
with  feet  set  down  carefully,  she  stole  along  the  passage  leading 
to  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  house.  The  passage,  at  a  en-tain 
point,  divided,  one  arm  conducting  to  the  apartment  of  Don  Bal- 
tha/ar,  the  other  to  guest-chambers  ;  opposite  to  the-e  was  ;i  saloon 
which  was  usually  employed  in  the  colder  seasons  of  the  year. 
Tlie  stairway,  terminating  the  passage,  led  below  to  servants' 
n-iits,  kitchen,  and  store-rooms,  and  constituted,  in  particu 
lar,  the  province  over  which  Anita  presided.  Hither  were  the 
•  ps  of  Olivia  directed;  but  when  she  readied  the  place 
•h'-:c  'he  passage  divided — her  own  lamp  bci  led — sho 

j'.iiiht  a  glimpse  of  a  light  st'vamiiw  from  Luieaih  the  door  of 
.iij 


THE   CONSPIRATORS.  91 

from  thi-   quarter.      \Vh  '      Who  hut  her 

eruel    •  r  uncle — tlh-  man  who  had  al>u<ed  hi 

made  the  \  if  Mood  ti  t.y  which  them 

all, — who  lint  lu-  and  the   ma'.'  re*tUT€  whom 

feared  .' — the  unnatural  a  ILT  of  w  hieh  had  na- 

;  any  i.f  h.-r  in-  1  ami  OOB 

i  what   ^houl.l   he   tli"   Mihjrrt    of  ih«-ir  «li- 
iu-  imt    tlk-ir  victim  ? — \V.-r«-  th.  \   QCK  BT6E  ti; 

'«>     rilVlllMVrllt     h(T     illtl» 

subtlu-  ii--  f.Miiil  not  think  nf  l.iit  with 

horror  iVrhaj^  >h«-  may  hi-ar  what  tin  . 

,ay  It-am  thri;  .:id  find  a  nu-ai. 

Olivia    diil    nut    si;tl<T   any  di.nl.t-   nf  j-roj-rirty    to    j«n -\.-nt    ht-r 

fath«»m  tlu-ir  II;    ;  : 

fully  ju>tifu-d    l.y  h.T  situation.     Shr    -t-t    down   IHT   lamp  at  an 

:vd  it  with  tli-  ':   th.-n 

stoh-  forward  to  tin-  door  of  tin-  rlnmlirr  which  held  the  con-,f,ir- 
ThroiiLrh    a    -  ni.  in   that 

ivr  little  Ih'cd  to  jini>h 

itline  (^ her  two  enemies,     Thc\  vrere  botli  nd  tlu- 

up  was  U-foiv  tlu-m.      '!  :  \ .  Imt 

' 

;    at    intervals.      \\Y  hav«-  1- 

:.     Hut  ^h<-  coi. 

.  held  up  to  I)" 

containing  lu-r  dniii.  in  01          •  him  th-  do<e  whi«-h 

-h«-  u-'sa!!;.  i    upon   h  phial 

and  th 

:1  fl-inu-il  up  I 
h<-r  h'-art.  whi«-h    nearly  drove  the  unuttercd    our 

' 

firm.  -  'al  restoi' 

of  th'  '  imd  it  impossihle  to  hear 

what  •iirncd    to   hiT ;  and, 

rom  the  door, 


92  VASCONSELOS. 

resumed  her  lamp,  and  proceeded  by  the  little  flight  which  con 
ducted  below,  to  the  apartments  in  the  rear,  which  were  assigned 
especially  to  Anita.  These  were  easily  accessible;  Anita  never 
suspecting  any  visitor,  and  least  of  all  the  one  in  question,  during 
her  absence.  Here,  the  poor  girl,  after  curiously  surveying  the 
region  into  which  she  had  not  before  often  penetrated,  began  her 
search  after  food.  She  reasonably  supposed  that  any  provisions 
which  she  should  find  in  these  precincts  would  be  found  uiulrug 
ged.  There  was  a  basket  of  cakes,  such  as  had  never  been 
brought  to  her;  of  these  she  gathered  a  small  number,  taking 
care  so  to  select  them  as  not  to  disturb  the  general  appearance 
of  the  pile.  She  found  some  "  cold  baked  meats/'  also — some 
fragments  of  a  bird-pie,  and  other  matters  of  the  same  sort,  such 
as  had  not  been  displayed  among  the  cates  usually  provided  for 
her.  Anita,  it  was  apparent,  was  by  no  means  regardless  of  her 
own  appetites.  She  had  a  taste  for  nice  filings,  and,  like  most 
persons  of  inferior  race,  was  in  the  possession  of  an  enormous 
appetite.  Olivia  fed  freely  while  storing  her  spoils  away  in  a  lit- 
tie  basket  which  she  had  appropriated  from  a  collection  in  the 
closet  of  the  crone.  With  the  basket  in  one  hand  and  her  little 
half-shaded  lamp  in  the  other,  she  prepared  to  effect  her  return  to 
her  own  chamber;  but  hardly  had  she  emerged  from  the  old 
woman's  apartments,  when  she  heard  the.  shuffling  of  feet  upon 
the  stair-flight,  while  a  suppressed  cough  attested  the  approach 
of  the  verv  person  upon  whose  domain  she  had  been  tiv-pa->inir. 
Here  was  a  dilemma.  To  say  that  she  had  any  fears,  in  the 
event  of  discover,  would  be  al»urd.  The  domain  was  hers. 
The  food  which  she  had  seemed  to  pilfer  was,  in  faet,  the  proceeds 
of  her  own  estates  Hut  the  action  would  have  betrayed  her  se 
cret  suspicions,  which  it  was  her  policy  for  the  present  to  conceal, 
and  would  only  prompt  her  enemies  to  rosorl  to  new  sch. 
which  it  might  not  be  possible  for  her  to  detect  and  o\erthr..\v 

With  the  bitter  feelings  of  her  soul  duly  in&eased  with  the  neoe§sjtv 

which  she  now  felt  of  concealment  unto  these  circumstances,  Olivia 
rilently  receded  alongthe  path  she  had  come.  Still  the  shuffling  of  tlw 

old  woman's  feet  was  heard,  the  cough  increased   in  frequency 


THE   HIDING   PLACE.  93 

and  force.     There  was  but  one  course  for  the  unhappy  girl,  and 
that  was  to  hide  herself  in   the  very  chamber  of  the   enemy  ;   if, 
indeed,  this  were  p068il  '   ,      Fortunately,  her  >tr 
the  emergency.      Her   mind   became  clearer  under  the  pr< 
indignant    feelings    gave    her    resolution,  and    she    steppe,  i 
firmly  to  the  tabooed  region,  as  quiekly  as  -he  might  with 
and  there  looked  about  her  for  a  place  of  r<  : 

She  was  not  long  in  resolving  upon  a  spot  in  whi«  h  to  shroud 

:'.     The  chamber  was  one  of  ample  dimensions,  and  it  had 

two   spacious   olOBeta,      But   Olivia   was    prudently  apprehensive 

that  the  old  woman  might  look  into  these;   -he  OUl  about    f.»r  a 

place  of  better  promise.     Anita  had  the  negro  faculty  <•:' 

mulation  in  high  degree.     To  tho<e  wlio  know  anything  of  the 

habits  of  this   race  of  people,  it  will   readily  be  conjectured   that 

ri  in  such  a  situation  as  that  which  -h  and  of  her 

ithered   about    her   an    infinite   tr- 
possessions  of  the  whites.     Her  r 

crowded  witli  old  clothes  as  the  warehouse  <>f  a  London  . 
man.      They   hiiim   about    the  walls;   they  lay  upon    the   chair-  ; 

i-p<-nded  upon  lin,  -  the  room  obii<jue!\ 

a  huge  wooden  !  rtion  of  o 

d  with  tin-in.      Behind  this  convenient  bulk 

Olivia-  1    in   -hroudinu  her-e!f  a  fe\\  re   tlie 

light  which  tlie  withered   cron.-  «-arri.  d    b.-jan  to   glimmer  in  the 
chamber.      Her-  bivathiiiir.    -he    cn-)n-he«l.    \\ith   all    the 

patience   and    re-olution  \\  hi.-h  -h--  «••  •  ill    OOmmai 
moment  when  the  hag  -h"iild   -1.  .-p.  in   order  to  .. 
cape.      rrhe   interval  was   Millicii-nt'.  •  and    tr\; 

and  pati.  i\>  •.    liad    many  things  to   d«».  and    >h 

with  her  the  remnant  .  .f  ihe  ;' 
7.iir  and  herself  lia-1  been  d:  ii 
ity  wh«-n  a'    • 

Finall  -fully 

'I*.      in  al: 
forraances,  the  poor  girl   behind   the  clothes-horse  was  k' 


94  VASCONSKLOS. 

continual  apprehension.  Several  times  the  old  hag  approached 
the  ]>l:uv  of  her  concealment.  Once  she  absolutely  proceeded 
to  take  from  it  some  of  its  articles  of  bed-furniture ;  to  dispose 
of  cloaks  and  shawls,  and  rearrange  the  disordered  drapery. 
Olivia,  all  the  while,  eowcring  and  crouching  like  a  guilty  person, 
dreading  to  be  diseovered  and  haled  into  the  light.  But  she  es 
caped  ;  the  crone  receded  to  other  parts  of  the  room,  having,  it 
would  seem,  a  variety  of  domestic  cares,  separate  from  those 
which  concerned  the  young  lady  and  the  Don,  her  uncle.  Mean 
while,  the  damsel  watched  all  her  proceedings  with  no  small  in- 
terest  With  careful  finger,  she  made  for  herself  an  aperture  be 
tween  the  massed  garments  upon  the  horse,  through  which  sh.- 
could  behold  all  that  took  place  within  the  chamber.  And  it  was 
with  momently  increasing  interest  that  she  saw  what  numerous 
cares  occupied  the  soul  of  that  old  woman,  momently  hovering 
over  the  \vrv  verge  of  existence.  How  she  had  accumulated ; 
with  what  method  she  examined  and  arranged  ;  with  what  caution 
she  put  away  ;  with  what  heed  she  counted  and  reviewed  her 
treasures,  a<  if -he  was  required  to  provide  for  a  thousand  years. 
Olivia  was  confounded  at  the  extent  and  sort  of  possessions  which 
•he  aged  crone  could  show;  the  constant  spoliations  of  a  long  life. 
There  wen-  chests  and  boxes,  all  of  which  she  opened  and  ex 
amined,  lifling  to  the  light,  and  surveying  some  of  the  contents, 
with  the  same  gratification,  no  doubt,  which  she  felt  when  she  had 
first  pilled  them  from  the  noble  lord  or  lady  whom  she  served,  her 
master  or  their  guests.  Olivia  beheld  little  trinkets  there  lifted 
up  to  sight,  which  she  herself  might  claim.  She  recognized 
..'hers,  which  had  been  the  property  of  friends.  These  were  all 
commontv  a-soeiated  with  treasures  of  quite  another  character. 
Amonur  the  p,,sxrsH.>n-  of  Anitatherc  was  quite  an  armory.  There 
were  hauberk,  and  helm,  and  lance-head,  and  da^er,  and  silver 
spur,  and  Nra-s.  and  gorget,  and  coat-of-mail,  and  e»canj»il  of  cot- 
ton.  and  bright  tar!/««  of  polished  steel.  But  we  forbear  the  cat 
alogue.  Knoiii:h  that  this  acquisitiveness  of  Anita  had  been  for 
..ixtv  years  without  restraint,  exercised  in  a  variety  of  situations, 
und  of  larg'-  opportunities,  and  that  she  had  been  as  successful  in 


ANITA'S  COUCHER.  95 

eoncealing  as  she  wa-  avid  in  securing  her  spoil.  Her  treasures 
thus  acquired,  included  fruits  and  spices,  silks  and  satins,  rare 
velvets,  tilluny  and  lawn.  jellies  and  ftyropc,  tinct  with  rose  and 
cinnamon,  fresh  fn.in  S;Ui  arcami  ai.d  Ind.  She  had  money,  too, 
in  considerable  store,  and  into  the  slit  of  a  box  in  one  of  her 
chests  sin-  dropped  a  newly-gotten  east ellano,  probably  the  gift 
of  Don  Balthazar  that  vcrv  night. 

Olivia  now  began  to  grow  weary  of  her  watch,  which  had  yet 
proved  so  in^tnu -live.  Her  anxi.-tios  and  apprehensions,  as  well 
as  weariness,  promised,  however,  soon  to  be  relieved.  The 
crone  began  to  di-robe  herself  for  the  night.  This  perform v 
but  for  a  single  circumstance,  would  have  been  totally  without 
interest  to  the  spectator.  But,  one  of  the  first  necessities  of 
Anita,  after  stripping  off  her  outer  garments,  was  to  take  from  her 
bo^om  the  little  phial  which  Olivia  had  seen  her  exhibit  to  her 
uncle.  This  she  placed  upon  the  table,  \\here  it  labelled  the  eye 
of  the  damsel,  and  held  it  with  a  singular  fascination.  In  that 
phial  lay  her  fate!  That  was  the  potent  spell  which  had  so 
chained  her  MD868,  until  -  -  but  the  thought  almost 
her,  and  it  was  with  diftieulty  that  she  restrained  :Vom 

rushing  forth,  and  giving  utterance  to  her  wild   passion  in  the 
wildest  phrensies  <>f  speech  and   action.      With  a  strenu.'i.^  .  v  r- 
lion  of  her  will  only,  did  she  forbear;  and,  still   keeping 
upon  the  phial.  slu.  continued  in  her  place  of  watch  in  quiet. 

ita   had   assumed    her  night  -dr.--.      Thi,   done, 

iddreOM  'I  hor-elf  to  her  She,  too,  could  pray  ;   but 

not    the    pra\er   of  igony,  and    I  She 

1   a   habit,  which  but    too   commonlv  the 

-able  wretob  D  ,nty.    But  her 

r  <iitrieii-nt!y  sarMaetory.   r\'\  .ithasortof 

•sheth.-r  lelf-ir  !!,.,•»!   n..t  inquire. 

!ing  ri.-fore  a  little  ima^f  of  the  .lying  Christ,  sh--   • 

his  iucrc\  ;   th.-n  craw!«-d   on  her  hands  ;ind  knees,  without  rising 

••as  the  ro<>m  to  her  couch.  and 

oply  raised  herself  that  she  might  make  her  |  bed 


96  VASCONSELOS. 

No  doubt  her  conscience  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  Deity  whica 
made  her  toils  no  weightier. 

The  soul  of  Olivia  was  in  great  agitation.  Fettered  in  a  con 
strained  position,  anxiously  dreading  and  expecting  discovery,  ex 
cited  by  what  she  had  seen,  and  moved  by  a  purpose  which  she 
had  not  yet  declared  to  herself,  and  which  was  still  working  in 
her  thought,  she  was  yet  compelled  to  remain  quiet  until 
the  old  woman  slept.  Now,  age  does  not  sleep  easily,  or  very 
soundly :  and  it  was  a  long  time  still,  before  Olivia  could  be 
sure  of  the  proof  which  taught  her  that  Anita  could  no  longer 
hear  and  see.  At  length,  persuaded  that  she  might  venture  out 
with  safety,  she  did  so.  The  light  in  the  apartment  guided  her 
movements.  She  approached  the  bed,  and  surveyed  the  sleeper 
with  curiosity.  The  withered  features,  though  composed  in  the 
calm  of  sleep,  still  seemed  to  wear,  in  the  eyes  of  the  damsel,  the 
expression  of  that  malignant  hatred  with  which  she  felt  sure 
that  Anita  had  always  regarded  her.  She,  herself,  looked  upon 
the  sleeper  with  features  of  indignant  loathing.  She  turned  away 
quickly  and  proceeded  to  the  table.  The  vague  suggestion 
which  had  been  working. in  her  mind  had  grown  into  a  resolu 
tion.  She  seized  the  phial,  whose  mysterious  powers  she  be 
lieved  herself  to  have  felt,  and  without  hesitation  poured  a  por 
tion  of  its  contents  into  the  wine-flask.  There  were  still  several 
draughts  of  the  liquor  in  it ;  she  knew  the  old  woman's  appetite 
for  the  juices  of  the  grape,  and  pleased  herself  with  the  idea  that 
she  would  drink,  and  sleep  ; — such  a  sleep  as  hud  }»een  so  often 
imposed  upon  her  own  senses,  and  to  such  cruel  results.  In  that 
sleep  of  twenty -four  hours — for  siu-h  was  the  term  which  Olivia 
<-d  in  the  action  of  the  potion — she,  herself,  would  enjoy  a 
measure  of  liberty  which  had  been  long  unknown.  She  would 
tli. -n  explore  the  household,  and  provide  herself — so  mode.ra^ 
wa*  her  calculation— such  a  sufficient  supply  of  proper  food. 

from     the    stores    of   the    housekeeper,  :is    Would    keep    her,  for    a 

•vhile,  uL  lea.-.t,  free  from  the  necessity  of  partaking  of  her  dosed 
Having  executed  her   purpose,  there  was  no  longer  3 


THE   DREAM.  97 

motive  vo  remain,  at  the  risk  of  detection,  and  seizing  upon  her 
basket  ami  lamp,  she.  di>appcared  in  safety.  The  clasp  of  the 
door  yielded,  and  *  <!  without  noise  ;  the  pMttge  prove, I 

;  the  light  nad  disaj.jH'are.1  from  l.nieath  tin-  d«».r  <>f  h.-r 
unele;  and  Olivia  regained  her  cfi.inil.rr  without  riiil.ai-ravv,,u-nt. 
Hrre  she  procer.K-d  to  satisfy  h.-r  hunger,  in  some  degree,  MJ.OJI 
the  eates  of  whirh  she  pOWOSSed  benelf  Ki.r  ;h«-  remnind.T 
she  sought  a  hiding-place,  which  she-  suppose,!  to  l,e  uiiMi.pcctc.l. 
These  put  away,  the  poor  girl  threw  herself  once  mori 
tne  image  of  the  Virgin,  in  prayer.  She  could  pray. 

wfcHtt  «>f  suffering,  hut  n.»t  of  guilt  ;  and.  a*  slu.  l<,,,ked 
up.  she  fimcii-d  tliat  the  picture  smiled  upon  her.  Tpori  this 
smile  she  slept  and  dreamed  pleasantly;  and,  in  her  drear-.,  be- 
held  the  image  of  Philip  de  Va-con-M-l..^  ..ecupvini:  the  place  of 
the  Virgin,  .and  looking  iown  upon  her  with  even  more  loving 
sweetness. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

"Oh,  detU  I         Oh,  aguardj  t     .  .  A  gran  pena  repiglw 
I  senai  iiin-i.     Che  mai  diu  'egli  ?    Avrebbe 
Forae  il  niio  anior  ?  .  .  .  Ma,  no  !     Racchiuso  ttammi 
Nel  piu  addentro  del  core."— ALFIKRI.— FIUPPO. 

THUS  dreaming,  the  sleep  of  Olivia  de  Alvaro  was  fortunate!) 
a  protracted  one.  Nature,  thus,  asserts  for  herself  some  happy 
hours,  even  in  a  life  which  is  one  of  unfailing  sorrows.  She  slept 
late.  In- the  meantime,  the  girl  Juana  had  been  several  times  in 
her  chamber.  Her  movements  finally  awakened  the  sleeper,  who 
found  that  the  da)  had  considerably  advanced.  The  morning  re 
past  was  already  awaiting  her.  She  arose,  and  her  toilet  was  as 
sisted  by  the  girl  in  waiting.  This  performed,  Olivia  dismissed 
her,  preferring  to  take  her  breakfast  alone.  A.  portion  of  this 
she  hurriedly  put  from  sight,  to  be  thrown  a>vay,  or  otherwise 
disposed  of,  at  a  fitting  opportunity.  Meanwhile,  she  pacified  her 
appetite  by  a  free  use  of  the  eates  which  she  had  appropriated 
from  the  stores  of  the  old  woman.  A  more  buoyant  feeling  pre 
vailed  in  her  bosom,  the  natural  effect  of  the  temporary  security 
which  she  felt.  She  had  found  a  respite — had  gained  time — whirh, 
in  the  case  of  youth,  is  always  felt  to  be  a  gaJn  of  importance. 
At  all  events,  she  was  for  so  many  hours  safe,  so  she  thought,  from 
the  dangers  of  that  drugging  influence  wlii <•!•,  for  a  long  time,  hail 
been  sapping  her  strength,  and  placing  her  completely  at  the 
mercy  of  those  who  had  so  terribly  abused  their  advantages  and 
power.  Juana  reappeared,  removed  the  breakfast  things,  and 
proceeded  to  her  household  duties.  Olivia,  all  this  while,  saw 
nothing  of  her  uncle  ;  and  finally  ascertained  that  he  had  left  the 
dwelling  at  an  early  hour  for  the  city.  Her  hope  was,  that,  as 
was  usually  the  case,  she  would  see  no  more  of  him  during  the 


A    VISITOR    EXPK(TKI).  99 

from  his  presence  was  now  always  a  source  of 
relief  to  her.      Whether  she  thought  more  favorably  of  the  pres- 
:!iothcr  we  may  conjecture  only  ;   but  we   may  mention 
tlu:  '  BOOH  ^lu-  proe.-rded   to  make    JUT    toilet    anew,  and 

.ingly  with  some  regard  to  visitors.  1 1.  r  div»  was  carefully 
.refully  adjusted.  She  wore  a  rich  necklace  of 
pear!-;  and  a  bandeau  of  pearls  eiieireled  her  forehead,  twined 
tastefully  in  with  the  dark  trcssrs  of  her  ^\t,^\  hair.  She  wa>, 
nmid»t  all  her  grief,  as  the  Greek  poet  describes  Klectra  in  her 
im  Miming,  who  clipt  only  the  "extremity  of  her  lock-."  "heedful 
<»f  beauty,  the  same  woman  still  !*'  Alas,  Olivia  de  Alvaro  was 
still  a  ehild  imly, — scarcely  more  than  seventeen.  (Iricf.  and  a 
terribly  depre  — irg  sense  of  shame,  had  done  much  towards  ma 
turing  her  passion^.  I>nt  she  had  enjoyed  too  little  communion 
with  the  world  to  have  done  much  towards  maturing  her  intel 
lect.  She  felt  shame  and  sorrow,  but  she  felt  love  also;  and 
girlh<»d  wa-  Mill  strong  within  her;  and  hope  was  not  wholly 
cm-he. 1  within  her  heart.  Vet.  even  while  she  habited  her  per 
son  a<  if  with  an  eye  to  charm,  -lie  was  troubled  with  misgiv- 
-u< -li  as.  more  than  oner,  caused  her  to  droop  and  sadden, 
and  finally  sink  down  upon  her  couch,  and  give  wav  to  a  full  flood 
of  «  What  right  had  she  to  hop,-;  what  hope  to  be  hap 

py  ;  h  .v,    pre-ume  to  dream  of  tin-  precious  affections  of  another, 
when    these    «<»uld    he.  given  with  tin-   presumption  only  that  she 
fully  deserving  of  them   all!      The  vi  ry  truthfulness  of  her 
own  passion  prompted  this  juM  coji-idera'ion  of  what  was  due  to 
the  affections  «,f  an«.:h.-r.      Hut  youth  and  girlhood,  and   her  own 
•ial!y  triumphed.      8  i:uid>t  her  tears.      She  com- 

•1  her  to;'  -.and  arrayed  her  jew- 

iMjUext.      \\\\y  should  she  not  love,  and  loving,  \\liv  not 
hope  ?      \\  .1-  not  her  love  sufficiently  warm, — her  soul  sufficiently 
-to  render  Philip  de  Va-'on^i-Ios  happv  ?     Slu1   nud,  it 
lii<-h  it  would   be  fatal  to  her  hope  were  he  to 
v  ;   but  how  should  lie  .  \-cr  kn-w  '—And.  MQ!    Bfoased  Vir- 
-he  exclaimed,  lookini:  up   at  the  benign  mother,   "am  I  to 
peri -h  for  the  cruel  deeds,  th,-  guilty  passions  of  another!" 


100  VASCONSELOS. 

It  was  not  difficult,  though  the  subject  of  a  long,  secret  strug 
gle  in  her  own  soul,  to  reconcile  herself  to  a  conviction  which 
promised  her  the  happiness  which  she  desired.  Her  passion 
proved  too  strong  for  her  conscientiousness,  and  her  reasons 
readily  gave  themselves,  as  they  but  too  commonly  do,  to  the 
requisitions  of  the  former.  Her  philosophy  is  probably  that  of 
thousands  in  like  situations.  The  fond  heart  of  woman  is  too 
much  dependent  for  its  life  on  the  affections,  not  to  be  easily 
persuaded  by  an  argument  which  sustains  the  cause  of  the  latter. 
The  love  which  Olivia  felt  for  Philip  de  Vasconselos  was  too 
precious  to  her  soul  to  yield  in  such  a  struggle  ;  and  the  result 
was,  that  she  determined,  though  with  shuddering  and  trembling, 
slmuld  he  offer  her  his  hand,  to  subdue  her  fears,  her  sense  of 
justice,  all  scruples  of  whatever  sort,  and  accept  the  blessing 
which  her  heart  craved  as  its  very  breath  of  life.  What  could 
her  uncle  do  1  What  could  he  dare  ?  The  word  from  his  lips 
that  would  blast  her,  would  seal  his  own  ruin  and  disgrace  for 
ever  !  She  would  be  true  to  Philip,  as  true  as  woman  ever  yet 
was  to  man  ; — he  would  protect  her  from  all  abuse  and  outrage 
— would  rescue  her  from  the  hostile  power  from  which  she  had 
most  reason  to  fear  both ;  and  in  the  pure  devotion  of  the  future, 
might  she  not  hope  to  repair  the  misfortunes  of  the  past  in  which 
she  could  conscientiously  affirm,  that,  however  much  she  might 
have  been  the  victim  of  the  guilty,  she  had  never  been  wittingly 
the  participator  in  his  crime  ? 

Soothed,  if  not  wholly  satisfied, assured  in  some  degree,  by  the 
solacing  sort  of  argument  through  which  her  mind  had  past,  Olivia 
proceeded  to  the  latticed  verandah,  and  from  thence  descended 
into  the  shrubbery.  Ah!  the  innocent  flower !  ah!  the  uncon 
scious  bloom,  and  the  unsuspected  blossom  !  How  they  appealed 
t<>  her!  and  whispered —such  whispers  as  made  her  turn  away 
from  them  with  averted  head,  while  upon  her  pale  cheek  there 
miirht  have  been  seen  a  flush  as  deep  and  vivid  as  a  warm  sun 
set  in  a  hi."nid  sky.  She  returned  to  the  verandah,  closing  its 
lattices,  letting  down  its  curtains,  and  shutting  out  the  sharper 
glances  of  the  day.  Then  she  threw  herself  upon  the  settee  of 


A   VISITOR.  101 

wicker-work  and  cane,  ami  covered  her  sad  eyes  with  her  hands 

in   ;i   sorrowful    meditation.      Leaving  her  thus  abstracted    for 
awhile,  let  us  proceed  to  other  par- 
Thai   morning,  Philip  <le  Ya-conselo-.  had   eaten   his   humble 
meal    alone,   and    in    >ilence.     Andres^  nt ;   whither   he 

knew  not,  and  the  younger  brother  was  of  a  temper,  and  just 
now  in  such  a  mood,  that  it  was  only  a  safe  policy  in  the  elder, 
not  to  semi  too  curious  in  any  of  his  affairs.  Philip,  though 
naturally  and  humanely  troubled  about  the  fate  of  Andres, 
sympathi/ing  with  him  very  sincerely  in  his  disappointments, 
t  too  human  to  be  deeply  grieved  by  the  one  misfortune 
:  all — which  his  brother  felt,  in  the  denial  of  his  mistress. 
It  would  not,  indeed,  have  been  «|uite  in  nature,  not  to  have  felt 
his  own  h'-pe-;  revive  pleasurably  at  the  knowledge.  IK-  was 
con-eious  of  an  exulting  feeling  in  his  bosom,  accordingly; 
whieh.  knowing  its  source,  he  labored,  though  unsuccessfully,  to 
school  and  to  rebuke.  But  this  labor  did  not  prevent  him  from 
making  his  toilet  that  morning  with  extreme  care,  and  resolving 
to  visit  the  lair  Olivia.  In  this  purpose  he  was  seconded  by  the 
counsels  of  the  gay  gallant  Nmio  de  Tobar.  who  suddenly  broke 
in  upon  him.  and  finding  him  alone,  gave  free  vent  to  his  encour- 
iigem.-nis.  v.  he  100  had  heard  of  the  defeat  of  Andres, 

and  he  urired  it  as  one  of  the  >iupn«:  in  favor  of  his  friend.  But 
Philip  shook  his  h--ad  gravely.  He  valued  the  Lady  Olivia  too 
highly  t-  fancy  that  >he  would  be  easy  of  attainment.  His  pas- 
>ion  wa-  too  earnest,  not  to  prompt  him  to  a  very  severe  ques 
tioning  of  his  own  nn-rits.  and  to  this  etl'eet  was  his  reply  to 
Tobar.  But  th"  latter  loudly  denounced  hi-  .  ••  modesty, 

ftp.il  urged  a  thousand  i  n>.,N.  ,  .   to  his  own  audacious 

f-.r  the   eneom-agemeiit  of  his  friend.     In  the   end,   they 

'her  to  the  dwelling  <  f  the  lady. 

In  the  meanwhile,  her  uiiele  had  suddenly  made  his  appear- 
ance.  bringing  with  him  another  visitor.  This  was  a  gaily  dress- 
ed  eavalier,  sufficiently  comely  of  person,  and  smooth  of  face, 
to  be  satisfied  with  himself;  but  who  possessed  few  distinguish 
ing  traits  by  which  to  compel  attention  or  respect  Still,  if 


102  VASCOXSELOS. 

Olivia  \*  as  to  wed  with  any  body,  this  was  the  person  whom  her 
uncle  was  most  pleased  to  tolerate.  He  may  have  had  special 
reasons  for  this  preference.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  belief  of 
Olivia,  to  whom  Don  Balthazar  had  more  than  once  spoken  on 
the  subject.  He  himself  frequently  afforded  to  the  young  gal 
lant  the  means  of  being  with  his  niece  in  private.  Don  Angus- 
tin  de  Sinolar  was  one  of  the  passable  gentlemen  that  go  to  make 
up  what  is  called  good  society.  He  came  of  respectable  family, 
enjoyed  respectable  possessions,  obeyed  the  usual  laws  of  fashion 
and  never  trespassed  upon  the  proprieties  of  the  circle.  He  was 
confident  of  speech,  and  was  always  in  possession  of  the  latest 
intelligence  which  could  please  the  persons  present  by  dispar 
aging  the  absent.  He  was  no  less  devotedly  the  lover  of  Olivi/ 
than  were  the  brothers  Vasconselos — that  is,  so  far  as  concerned 
the  externals  of  devotion.  But  the  essentials  of  an  earnest  pas 
sion,  of  any  sort,  were  not  within  the  nature  of  De  Sinolar. 
He  was  of  marriageable  years  and  person,  ami  an  establishment 
was  necessary  to  his  position,  a  wife  was  necessary  to  his  es 
tablishment,  and  he  required  rank  as  a  first  condition  in  the  dam 
sel  he  should  espouse.  Other  requisites  were  wholly  subordinate, 
The  ordinary  secret  of  this  ordinary  gentleman,  who,  even  in  the 
workings  of  his  passions,  obeys  rigidly  a  conventional  arrange 
ment,  was  that  which  made  his  policy  ;and  to  do  $he  agreeable  to 
his  mistress,  as  a  carpet  knight,  was  the  extent  of  his  perform 
ance  in  the  effort  to  secure  favor.  Had  Olivia  been  of  a  like 
temper,  De  Sinolar  would  have  proved  a  formidable  rival  to 
either  of  the  Portuguese  brothers.  The  small  graces  of  society, 
the  tea-table  heroics,  were  in  the  possession  of  neither.  Philip 
de  Vasconselos  was  particularly  deficient  in  such  arts.  lie  was 
of  a  grave,  calm,  reserved  nature,  too  earnestly  in  love  to 
meditate  his  conquests  by  any  ordinary  means.  He  could  only 
show,  as  he  did  without  his  own  consciousness,  perhaps,  how  pre 
cious  in  his  eyes  was  the  object  of  his  passion.  The  woman  of 
ht art  soon  distinguishes  between  two  such  suitors,  and  if  she  deter 
mines  in  favor  of  either,  docs  not  hesitate  long  in  declaring  for 
him  whose  earnestness  is  congenial  with  her  own.  It  is  the  woman, 


A    NEW   RIVAL.  [US 

whose  oh,iT.icu»r  has  been  too  feeble  to  withstand  the  coercive 
shaping  of  fashion  merely,  who  is  usually  caught  by  him  who 
is  cool  enough  always  to  make  himself  agreeable  simply  as  a 
companion. 

The  t\v«>  friends  found  De  Sinolar  in  possession  of  the  ground, 
•ami  eagerly  displaying  to  the  eyes  of  the  languid  Olivia  a  col 
lection  of  silks  and  shawls,  which  he  had  purchased  f  >r  the  ap- 
proaching  tourney.  The  entrance  of  Don  Philip  ami  De  Tobar 
afforded  De  Sinolar  an  opportunity  of  dilating  to  a  larger  audience 
upon  the  excellence  of  his  tastes  in  the  choice  of  silks  and 
colors.  De  Tobar  lent  him  a  ready  attention,  the  better  to 
•fiord  his  friend  the  desired  opportunities  with  Olivia.  Her  eye 
was  cast  down,  but  brightened,  at  his  approach.  He  was  not 
annoyed  at  tin-  presence  of  the  others,  since  it  was  not  his  pur 
poee  yet  t<>  approach  the  subject  of  his  passion.  The  encouraging 
assurances  of  his  friend  had  failed  as  yet  to  prompt  him  BO  soon 
fo  peri!  his  hope  upon  the  question.  He  seated  himself  near  her, 
however,  and  spoke  to  her  in  those  subdued  tones  which  are  so 
grateful  to  the  ears  of  lovers  ;  his  deep,  grave,  almost  sad  glance, 
look  ing  all  the  while,  as  it  were,  down  into  her  heart.  She  caught  a 
glimpse  of  this  look,  but  suffered  herself  only  a  moment's  naze. 
That  moment  was  enough  to  Pemind  her  of  her  dreams  bv  niirht, 
when  she  had  seen  the  same  sweet,  sad,  soliciting  glances  ^a/ini; 
upon  her  from  the  place  which  was  occupied  by  the  picture  of 
the  Virgin.  The  approaching  departure  of  the  expedition  tor 
Florida  became  naturally  the  subject  of  conversation,  and  afford- 
cd  a  clue  to  DC  Sinolar,  which  prompted  him  to  leave  for  awhile 
tins. 

"  Ah!  yes!  we  shall  shortly  hear  of  your  departure.  Senor." 
said  he;  "and  yet,  by  the  \say.  I  know  not  if  I  rightly  includ* 
you  in  the  expedition.  They  say,  Senor.  that  you  have  not  yet 
declared  whether  you  accompany  Don  ITernan  or  not;  aiJ 
some  say,  a-jain,  that  yt>u  have  half  resolved  not  to  go,  <  'an  it 
be  -o?  Now  one  should  think  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  about 
your  purpose.  Else  why  should  you  come  from  Portugal,  to 


104  VASCONSELOS. 

the  new  Indies,  if  it  were  not  to  better  fortune  by  conquest 
among  the  savages  ?" 

"  Unless,"  answered  Tobar,  with  a  laugh,  "  he  might  better 
fortune  by  a  conquest  among  the  saints  ;" — and  he  looked  mis- 
ehievously  at  Olivia  as  he  spoke. 

De  Sinolar  was  for  a  moment  at  fault. 

"  Among  the  saints  ! — I  don't  see.  Oh  !  yes !  among  the 
ladies  !  Saints  and  angels  !  yes  !  well,  that  were  certainly  less 
dangerous  warfare,  and  one  that  I  much  prefer  myself.  If  that 
is  the  game  of  Don  Philip,  he  is  wiser,  I  am  free  to  confess,  than 
most  soldiers  of  my  knowing.  They  have,  methinks,  precious 
small  value  of  ladies' favors  ;  and  show  but  little  wisdom  ac 
cordingly.  I  beg  you  ten  thousand  pardons,  Seiior  Don  Philip, 
but  I  am  bold  to  say  I  have  regarded  you  as  too  much  of  the 
warrior  to  give  heed  to  beauty — too  fond  of  the  tilt  and  spear, 
to  hold  in  overmuch  estimation  the  darts  from  lady's  eyes,  and 
the  wounds  they  give; — wounds,  I  say  it  from  my  soul's  experience, 
sueh  as  no  army  surgeon  can  be  found  to  heal  !" 

Here  he  smote  his  bosom  ailectedly,  and  looked  to  Olivia; 
but  her  eyes  were  upon  the  floor.  Even  the  sigh  of  the  gallant, 
which  followed  his  speech,  was  lost  upon  her  heedless  senses. 
They  were  all  alive,  however,  the  next  moment,  as  the  deep 
tones  of  Vasconselos  answered  De  Sinolar. 

"  You  do  me  wrong,  Don  Augustin,  and  you  do  the  character 
of  the  noble  warrior  wrong,  if  you  assume  either  me,  or  him,  to 
be  insensible  to  the  charms  of  love,  or  the  claims  of  beauty. 
Perhaps,  it  is  the  valiant  man  only,  who  is  always  prepared  to 
sacrifice  himself  where  he  hates,  who  feels  love  to  be  a  sufficient 
power  to  command  self-sacrifice,  if  need  be,  also.  But  I  trow  t  here 
can  be  no  occasion  for  me  now  to  defend  the  tenderness  ai  3  soft 
ness  of  the  warrior's  heart,  which  hath  been  sufficiently  instanced 
in  all  stages  of  the  world,  and  is  a  thing  usually  acknowledged 
among  all  classes  of  men.  And  for  the  soldier's  regard  for  beauty, 
what  nee4  have  we  to  look  beyond  a  present  instance  1  For 
what  is  this  tournament  provided,  for  which  you  are  preparing 


tBRBSOLUTIOK.  '05 

these  brilliant  colors  and  silks,  l.ut    that   tin-  valor  of  tl 

•    fill  appeal  to  the  smiles  of  love  and  heair 

aused.    Olivia,  looking  dojrn  the  while,  said  in  low  tones — 

••I-  you  have  not  j  :vd  to  thed«>.:l.ts  of  Den 

-tin,  touching  your  departure  with  the  e\p edition." 
'•Ah!    true,"   cjuoth  De    Sinolar— "  They   say  that    th-:v    are 
doi,;  my  thought  that  Don  Ilernan  had  shown  you 

the  1'ettcr  arirumcllt." 

"  They  >ay  rightly.  Senorita,"  replied  Vasconselos  to  Olivia, 
and  scarcely  noticing  DC  Similar — "who  say  that  I  have  yet  de 
termined  nothing.  1  am  truly  luit  half  rt-solved  to  drpart,  yet 
fully  half  indinrd  \»  p-main.  TTii-ro  !•«•  private  roasOM  for 
this  uiuvrtaiiity.  Whi-thi-r  Don  Ilrnian  will  succeed  in  |.«-r- 
suadini:  me  -and  it  is  «mc  of  my  d«.id>ts  if  h«-  deofarea  -«>  to  do 
— will  greatly  rest  ujmn  the  force  of  oilier  and  oppo-ite  fn-r-ua 
sion<  than  tho^c  of  war.--  I'erhaps.  it  were  only  wise  with  me, 
to  \ie'd  Mindly  to  Don  IL-nian's  aj-iruim-nts,  and  look  nothing 
firth 

It  \Nas  the  tone  with  which  this  last  sentence  was  sp,,kcn.  and 
the  look  which  accompanied,  which  held  the  meaning  more 
nificantly  than  the  words   themselves.      Tin-    sweet,  sad    n-^i^na 
tioii  in  both  wcr.t  direct   to  the    heart  of  Olivia.      But    -he 
her  eyes  upon  the  flo.,r  and   remained    silent.      But   DC  Siimlar, 

who  nothing  fait tto  words  spoken,  and  who  was 

in   looking  below  the  surface  of  any  thin<j.  proeeeded  in 
l»is  u-ual  manner. 

••  \V.  ;!.  SefiOT,  it  will  he  needful  tliat  you  should  deride  xhnrt- 
ly.      In  a  '  we  -hall  have    the    tournament,  and    in  a 

mo|.  tvels  will  l.e  ;tl!    ready  to    receive    the    armament. 

Then  will  you  eml.ark  'he  h'-rses  and  artillery.      Th.-e  the  fir>t. 
Then  will    the  loot    s«»ldi--r<    ^«»    MM    hoard.    an<l   at    th-     la •-?    the 

knights  i  men,     They  an-  baki'g famous  quantity 

hread.  even  n  'yi's,  and    la  (Jranj.  ' 

cage:                       -k    anioiiL!  t!i«-   h«atln-u  the 

gold  from  th'-  altars  and  the  treasure  from  the  rich                f  the 

Apalachian.    Ah!    I/idv  <)li\-;a,  when   tin  /on, 

6* 


106  VASCONSELOS. 

we  shall  be  as  dull  and  quiet  here  as  if  we  had  never  known 
either  dance  or  music. 

"  These  ga\  knights  will  all  be  on  the  path  of  conquest.     Well 
For  my  part,  I  say  let  them  conquer  !  1  have  no  passion  for  con 
quest,  and  1  have  no  faith  in  its  fruits.     1  believe  them  to  be  all 
delusions.     One  man  gets  off  with  a  sound  head  and  a  full  pocket, 
but  a  hundred  pays  for  him  with  deadly  wounds,  broken   limbs, 
and  beggary  forever  !     If  one  could  be  sure  that  lie  should   be 
the  one,  and  not  one  of  the  hundred,  why,  it  were   pleasant  to 
adventure  ;  but  where  there's  but  one  white  bean   to  a  score  of 
black  ones,  I'm  not  the  man  to  draw,  if  1  can  help  it." 
"  But  the  fame,  Senor — the  glory  ?"  said  Olivia. 
'•  Tame  and  glory  !     They    will   neither    plaister    my    head, 
mend  my  limbs,  nor  find  me  in  rations.     My  rc/jartimiento,  here, 
answers  all  my  ambition.    It  lacks  but  a  mistress  to  be   all  the 
empire  I  demand,  and  she,  with  the  blessing  of  the  Virgin,  1  hope 
some  day  to  find  willing  to  my  hands." 

And  here  he  looked  with  a  sudden  tenderness  towards  Olivia. 
"  And  have  you  never  felt  the  eager  desire  for  battle,  Senor  ?" 
quoth  Tobar  : — "  That  joyous  desire  for  the  strife  of  swords  and 
the  crash  of  lances,  whieh  makes  the  head  throb  with  delirium 
and  the  heart  bound  as  if  \  had  wings  of  its  own,  and  was  about 
to  soar  to  heaven — that  feeling  which  the  adelantado  hath  happi 
ly  described,  from  some  old  heathen  Greek  or  Roman,  as  '  the 
r-ipture  of  the  strife.'  " 

"  No  !  indeed  !  no  such  raptures  for  me.  Any  other  sort  of 
rapture,  in  preference  !  Let  it  be  eating,  or  drinking,  or  dancing, 
or  loving — I  care  not  h<»w  vulgar  or  how  simple — the  bull-ring, 
the  cock-pit — nay,  the  siesta, — any  thing  but  the  shouts  and  the 
struggle  of  combatants.  The  tournament  is  enough  for  me,  I've 
tried  that.  I'll  try  it  no  more.  When  1  want  to  break  a  lance, 
I  have  only  to  sully  out  into  the  mountains  after  some  of  my 
runaways.  I  use  a  blunt  spear  on  such  occasions.  Then,  I  charge 
valiantly  enough.  Then,  I  overthrow  and  make  captive.  I  don't 
kill  unless  1  can't  help  mys  If;  sin«-e  it  is  more  profitable  and 
pleasant  to  beat  my  Indians  than  to  bury  them." 


A   PHILOSOPHICAL    FOP.  107 

44  Your  humanity  is  eo;;;mendab!  "  wa>  the   somewhat 

iv  .  who,  indeed,  had    scarcely  heeded 

what  the  other  had  been  sav  ing  ;  and  now  turned  from  him  with  a 
contempt  which  was  sufficiently  apparent.  Hut  the  other  was  by 
n«>  means  discomfited  bv  all  expression  whichhe  clearly  beheld. 
iol  very  promptly  and  very  indillereiitly,  as  if  his  social 
portion — his  wealth — put  him  quite  beyond  reproach. 

"Ali!  you  scare*.)  mean  that,  I  know,  Senor  Don  Philip: 
but  it  matters  nothing.  I  don't  care  who  knows  that  I  am  re 
solved  to  live  while  I  can,  and  ri>k  no  bones  upon  reputation. 
If  heads  are  to  be  clover.,  let  them  take  the  hardest :  if  brains 
arc  to  be  scattered,  it  needs  only  that  you  choose  such  as  can  waste 
little:  if  hard  blows  are  to  be  struck,  get  those  men  only  for 
<rk  who  have  been  trained  to  the  boncan.  If  you  love 
lighting.  Don  Philip,  it  is  well  for  you:  not  foi  nie.  I  love  it 
not.  You  have  tried  your  hand  at  it.  and  it  suits  you.  You 
have  fought  against  the  Moors.  You  have  already  had  a 

ridian  fighting,  and  I  have  seen  you    carry  you 
sportively,  against    IJaTttiinmeo    de  Gallegos,    and    Senor    Nuno, 
,i:d  I  am  free  to  confess  that  the  !a*t  per>on  whom 

should  entreat  to  a  supper  of  blado  and  lai;.-e>.      1  am  only  at 
conflict  with  gentle  woman."  Bimlil  y  on  Olivia; — "and 

the  i  a  nan  to  >ueh  brave  knL:  ir-elf.      Hy  tlic\\ay, 

I)on  Philip,  they  tell  me  you  served  with  Francis  1  i'/arro 
in  Peru  !      1  had  fi .rotten  ti, 

"It  mattered  QOt,"  M.^M'rcd   Vl  s  coldly. 

••  V  A   '  :i.an  t'-r   you,  that    Francis   Pi/arro.      II-'- 

the    M.ugh   customer   for    a  weak   stomach.      He's  what  I   call    a 

ilk    of   Corte/,    indeed!       H»\T  should    Hernan   ('«.rte/ 

be  a  hero  '.      I've  seen  him  a  hundred  times  NN  hen  lie  was  nothing 

out  a  fanner,  and  had  a  hacic  nda  not  half  the  value  of  m\   "Wi,. 

lie  \\a^    lucky.  Seii.'i- — very  lucky.      1    remember    him    \\cll.      I 

;t    a    boy  wh«-n    he  worked    hi-  lann    and  drove   his    mule, 

/ike   any  otlier    j-»-a>ant. — though    they    make   him    now    a    born 

nobleman  ;  and  how  OOUld  he     . 

it  not  for  the  blind  fortune  th  .  BMD  on  the  horse  whila 


108  VASCOXSELOS. 

his  betters  hold  the  stirrups  1  No!  no!  If  there  be  a  truly 
great  mail  of  these  days  and  countries,  it  is  of  a  certainty  the 
noble  Marquis  Pizarro." 

Nuno  de  Tobar  could  scarcely  restrain  his  angry  impatience 
while  the  fopling  continued  to  discourse  thus  freely  of  the  great 
masters  in  the  art  of  war,  whom  in  that  day  it  was  the  fashion 
to  commend  as  above  all  Greek  and  Roman  fame,  and  he  sharply 
responded  to  the  flippancies  of  De  Sinolar  in  respect  to  Cortez. 
Vasconselos,  on  the  contrary,  gave  him  little  heed,  and  seemed 
not  to  think  it  necessary  to  gainsay  his  opinions.  He  was  con 
tent  thajt  he  should  "  rabble  on,"  as  it  afforded  him  an  opportu 
nity  to  murmur  a  quiet  remark,  in  under  tones,  to  his  fair  com 
panion,  whose  responses,  brief  and  timid,  were  always  delivered 
in  like  subdued  accents.  It  was  only  when  his  stock  of  small 
talk  was  entirely  exhausted  that  Don  Augustin  was  content  to 
take  his  departure.  This  he  did,  when,  at  the  close  of  a  long 
rambling  speech,  he  had  emptied  his  budget  of  accumulations ; 
what  he  said  being  only  a  repetition  of  what  he  had  heard.  He 
did  not  seem  to  apprehend  any  danger  from  leaving  the  field  to 
his  rival ;  persuading  himself  that  Vasconselos,  though  good 
enough  where  lances  were  splintered,  possessed  too  few  re 
sources  of  the  courtier  to  make  much  progress  where  the  game  de 
pended  on  the  ease  of  the  dialogue  and  the  liveliness  of  the  humor. 

His  departure  was  a  relief  to  all  the  parties.  Nuno  de  Tobar 
soon  after  rose,  and  upon  some  plea  of  flowers,  passed  from  the 
apartment  into  the  garden.  The  lovers  were  alone  together.  A 
wild  thrill  shot  through  the  soul  of  Olivia  at  the  consciousness. 
Her  cheek  flushed — her  frame  trembled  with  emotion.  But  she 
cnew  that  she  was  watched — that  the  eyes  of  Don  Balthazar 
were  upon  her  from  some  quarter — that  love  had  no  security  in 
that  House  of  Fear.  \ 'a-. •on-* -los  was  free,  of  course,  of  all 
such  apprehensions.  He  knew  that  Don  Balthazar  had  entered 
the  house  with  De  Sinolar,  but,  as  he  had  seen  nothing  of  him 
after,  he  presumed  that  he  had  quitted  it,  or  was  elsewhere  em 
ployed.  He  drew  nigher  to  where  she  sate. 

ieparture  of  this  expedition,  which  threatens  so  much  to 


TENDER   MOMENTS.  109 

lesson  the   plea-tires  of  the   ladies  of  Cuba,  will    give   but  little 
concern,  I  fancy,  to  von.  Scfiorita." 

"  And  wherefore  not,  Sefior  '" 

"You  take  little  delight,  1  fear,  in  such  exercises  as  challenge 
the  best  regards  of  knighthood.  I  have  seen  you  at  very  few 
of  the  gentle  passages  between  the  knights." 

"True;  but  1  am  not  insensible.  1  have  heard  full  re-ports 
of  their  performances,  and  found  delight  in  the  accounts  of  sueh 
grace  and  valor,  and  courtc-y  and  skill,  as  has  been  rarch 

"Yet  would  I  have  belu-ld  you,  Senorita,  among  the  gay  beau 
ties  of  this  island  court,  who  have  stimulated  courtesy  by  'heir 
grace,  and  prompted  achievement  to  great  things  by  their  ap 
proving  smiles.  I  have  looked  for  you,  Senorita.  very  often, 
and, — may  1  say  it, — have  sometimes  left  the  field,  as, 
you  not,  it  has  seemed  to  me  to  lark  its  best  attraction." 

"Ah!  Senor,  it   is  the.  wont  of  Cavaliers  to  use  this  - 

h    to  fooli-h  damsels.      And  why  should    you    lea 
where  there  have  been  so  many  beauties  -,c  cheer,  and    s<- 
sweet  WHOM  to  encourage  ?" 

"Yet  was  there  one,  of  all, — one  only,  lady,  >-hom  I  most 

desin  d  to  behold." 

"Ah!  and  why  should  the  Senor  Philip  be  insensible  to  the 
I  which  have  daily  hailed  his  passage*  <>n  every  hand  ? 
Who  has  won  the  applauses  Alld  the  prizes  ;,t  the  several  toiirne\  s  ] 
Win »e  lance  hath  been  most  honored  in  the  conflict  ? — wh»-e 
name  been  inoxt  x.inided  ? — in  whose  fame  have  the  mult'tude 
rai-fd  ni"-t  lV'-«juently  the  shout  of  acclamation  .'" 

*k  Alas!   lady,  all  these   tributes  are  of  little  value  in    tl 
of  Philip  de  VasOODSeloS,  compared  with  the  sweeter  asMirancc.s 
that  mi^it  tall  from  the  lipsof  one.  the  loveliest  virgin  of  all  <  'ub;i '" 

Thccy-  of  VasOODSeloa  ^-  re  fastened  tenderly,  a-  he  xpokr. 
upon  those  Of  OllTia,  11-  r-  -unk,  ba-hfully,  beru-ath  hi-  glance  ; 
and  a  warm  red  Hu-h  «juiekly  overspread  hercheek-.  llt-rliand  lay 

beside  him  upon  the  sola,  which  she  partly  occupied.     Hi-  : 
fell   hesitatingly  upon  it  ;  and   it  pfq   not  withd- 


110  VASCONSELOS. 

silent — the  beatings  of  her  heart  were  audible,  and  his  bosom 
rose  also  and  sunk,  in  impetuous  responses,  to  the  excited  emo 
tions  which  seemed  to  prevail  in  hers.  He  continued,  more 
eagerly,  and  more  tenderly. 

"  It  may  be  that  mine  is  the  sin  of  .presumption,  lady  ;  but  of 
a  truth  it  were  a  somewhat  pardonable  sin,  since  its  hope  is  of 
favor  at  the  shrine  of  as  chaste  and  holy  a  passion " 

The  hand  was  instantly  withdrawn,  and  so  hastily,  as  evi 
dently  to  surprise  the  pleader.  He  looked  inquiringly  into  her 
Dice,  and,  as  he  did  so,  her  cheeks  paled  so  suddenly,  and  to  such 
an  ashen  white,  that  Vasconselos  feared  she  was  about  to  faint. 
But  she  recovered  herself  with  great  effort,  yet  not  so  com 
pletely  as  to  prevent  a  sudden  sobbing,  like  that  of  an  infant  in 
its  sleep,  from  escaping  into  sound. 

"  You  are  ill,  Senorita ;  or  am  I  so  unhappy  as  to  have  offend 
ed  you  r 

"  You  have  not  offended  me,  Senor  Philip, — oh !  no!"  was  the  re 
ply,  tremulously  and  hastily  spoken — "  a  momentary  pain  only." 

He  paused,  waiting  on  her  with  a  gentle  and  sweet  solicitude 
that  allowed  no  change  in  her  face  to  escape  his  eyes.  Hers 
sunk  beneath  his  survey,  and  her  cheeks  were  again  suffused 
with  blushes.  This  seemed  a  grateful  omen  to  the  knight  of 
Portugal.  He  resumed  his  pleading — his  hand  again  rested 
upon  her  own  ;  and  hers  was  unwithdrawn,  in  spite  of  the  gen 
tle  pressure  which  detained  it.  She  looked  downwards  as  he 
pleaded. 

"  I  trust,  dear  Senorita,  I  have  not  spoken  too  rashly.  Better 
that  I  were  dumb  forever  than  now  to  offend.  But,  indeed,  you 
must  suiler  me  to  speak.  Indeed,  you  must  hear  me.  Ah!  if 
\<>u  but  knew,  Senorita,  how  pure  is  the  tribute  of  affection 
which  I  now  offer  to  your  charms  !  Too  well  I  know  the  chaste 
ami  Imly  homage  which  a  virgin  heart  requires " 

The  hand  was  suddenly  withdrawn.  An  hysterical  laugh  es- 
iMpeil  from  the  lips  of  the  damsel,  as  she  replied — 

"  Ah !  Senor,  you  are  all  too  serious.    You  sadden  me  much. 


THE   MYSTERY.  Ill 

In  faith,  you  do  ;  and  I  must  sing  to  you  a  merry  song  ere  I  grow 
gloomy  as  the  night.  You  shall  hear  a  cheerful  ditty,  such  as  will 
make  you  laugh,  and  make  us  forget — forget — be  very  forgetful." 

She  would  have  ri>«-n.  and  motioned  to  the  guitar  lying  upon  a 
table  ;  but  he  held  her  firmly  by  the  hand.  He  was  bewildered 
by  her  conduct,  but  grew  more  and  more  firm  as  he  contempla 
ted  her.  He  had  seen  too  much  of  the  world,  and  of  human 
nature,  not  to  perceive  that  th*»re  was  some  mystery  in  the  pro 
ceeding.  How  else  should  he  account  for  the  feverish  hurry  of 
her  manner,  at  such  a  moment,  so  utterly  unlike  her  conduct, 
during  all  other  periods  1 — how,  for  that  sobbing  sigh,  that  con 
vulsive  shudder,  and  those  forced  husky  accents  while  delivering 
words  ostensibly  meant  to  be  playful  and  sportive  ?  Vasconselos 
was  now  not  to  be  deceived.  He  saw  that  the  gaiety  was  all 
assumed  only  ; — yet  wherefore  ?  He  was  more  ready  to  believe 
that  there  was  agony,  rather  than  merriment,  in  her  spirit  at  thpt, 
•  ••lit.  Then  why  -4iould  she  seek  to  sport  with  emotions.  BQ 
sacred,  in  his  bosom,  when  she  had  always  before  shown  him  a 
ropeet  approaching  to  reverence  ?  Va^conselos  felt  instinctively 
that  the  damsel  Bought  under  the  guNe  of  levity  only  to  conceal 
the  activity  and  presence  of  deep  and  painful  emotions.  He  felt 
and  saw  all  this;  but  it  was  not  the  moment,  nor  was  his  the 
mood,  having  advanced  thus  tar,  to  be  diverted  from  his  object. 
He  ^till  kept  his  gra-p  upon  her  hand.  He  looked  steadily  into 
her  ryes.  They  answered  his  gaze  wildly.  She  trembled  all 
over.  He  spoke. 

"Olivia — lady — I  cannot  now  be  baffled — I  must  speak,  and 
you  rnu-4  answer  me.  It  is  too  great  a  matter,  to  me — too 
vital  to  my  soul's  life,  to  MillVr  me  to  he  silent  longer,  or  to 
leave  you  without  having  an  answer.  Yet  you  must  not  suspect 
me  of  unkindiiess.  1  see  that  you  MI  tier.  I  am  not  deceived  by 
this  show  of  merriment.  1  feel  that  there  is  a  secret  sorrow  whicn 
you  vainly  stniiriile  to  conceal " 

'•  No  !  no  !  no  secret — 1 — ()  !  Senor,  release  me — let  me  go  !" 

And  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands  upon  the  arm  of  the  settee.  Vasconselos  bent  over, 


112  VASCONSELOS. 

clasped  one  of  her  hands  in  his  own,  and  was  about  to  pass  his 
arm  about  her  waist,  when  a  sudden  footstep  was  heard  in  the 
room.  In  the  same  moment  Don  Balthazar  spoke, — but  a  sin 
gle  woid, — but  it  sounded  in  the  ears  of  Olivia  like  the  voice 
of  the  Angel  Monkir  calling  up  the  dead. 

"  Olivia !" 

She  started  to  her  feet — looked  wildly  in  the  face  of  Vascun- 
selos,  who  had  withdrawn  a  pace,  and  was  observing  Don  Bal 
thazar — and  then  tottered  towards  her  uncle.  Philip  darted  for 
ward  to  help  her,  when  she  recovered  herself,  bowed  slightly  to 
her  lover,  and  followed  her  uncle  from  the  room.  Scarcely  had 
she  got  into  the  passage  when  Don  Balthazar  said  to  her  quickly 
— and  she  now  observed  that  his  face  was  very  pale — 

"  When  did  you  see  Anita  last  T' 

"  Not  since  last  night.     Why  ?" 

"  She  is  dead  !" 

"  Dead !" 

"  Ay,  dead  !  of  old  age,  I  suppose.  Died  in  a  fit !  But  go 
to  her.  You  will  find  her  in  her  room.  Meanwhile,  I  will  ex 
cuse  you  to  these  gentlemen." 

He  disappeared.  Olivia  was  frozen  to  the  spot,  and  speech 
less.  Her  conscious  soul  was  full  of  nameless  terrors.  She 
too  readily  divined  the  cause  of  the  old  woman's  death,  and 
though  no  purpose  of  crime  was  in  her  mind  when  she  mixud 
vvith  the  contents  of  the  wine-flask  the  potion  from  the  phial,  slu> 
shuddered  with  such  a  horror  as  might  well  become  the  guilt  of 
the  murderess.  When  Don  Balthazar  returned  from  speak inu 
with  Vasconselos  and  his  friend,  he  found  Olivia  where  lu-  ha.  I 
left  her,  rather  the  statue  of  a  frozen  woman  than  a  living 
breathing  sufferer.  He  was  startled  by  her  evident  incapacity, 
and  putting  his  arms  about  her,  was  about  to  convey  her  to  her 
chamber ;  but  the  touch  of  his  fingers  recalled  her  energies.  She 
revolted  from  the  contact  with  as  great  a  shuddering  as  she  felt 
when  first  apprised  of  Anita's  death. 

"  Touch  me  not!"  she  exclaimed  solemnly — "  I  will  go  alone." 

She  did  go,  but  not  to   the  sight  of  the  dead  woman.     Sh«» 


A   NEW    CATASTROPHE.  118 

fi-lt  that  sh»-  could  nut  endure  that  spectacle.  She  hurried  to  her 
own  chamber,  and  when  tin-re,  threw  herself  half  fainting  upon 
tin-  e<>uch.  The  new  catastrophe,  in  which  she  had  so  much  par 
ticipate.l,  added  to  the  gloomy  horrors  which  had  already  taken 
such  full  possession  of  her  soul. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"  Mark  me  well  : 

1  boldly  tell  thee  that  I  bear  a  soul, 
Prepared  for  either  fortune.     If  thy  hand 
Be  stronger,  use  thy  {xnver."  AGAMKM.VO.I 

DON  BALTHAZAR  found  no  difficulty  in  sending  off  the  two  visit 
ors.  After  the  departure  of  Olivia,  they  had  but  little  motive 
to  remain.  Her  uncle  was  not  much  a  favorite  with  them.  He 
was  known  to  be  a  hard  and  selfish  man,  who  was  believed,  and 
rightly,  to  have  no  sympathies  with  either.  Still,  he  was  a  man 
of  the  court,  and  could  put  on,  when  he  pleased,  the  manners  ot 
a  preux  chevalier.  He  was  now  exceedingly  courteous  and  con 
ciliatory,  and  apologized  warmly  for  the  unavoidable  withdrawal 
of  his  niece,  and  for  those  cares,  of  his  own,  which  denied  him 
the  pleasure  of  giving  them  further  entertainment.  He  told 
them,  without  scruple,  the  cause  of  the  present  confusion  in  his 
household;  and  made  quite  a  pretty  story  of  it. 

"His  venerable  housekeeper,  who  had  been  almost  a  mother 
to  Olivia,  watching  and  tending  her  youth  with  more  than  paren 
tal  solicitude,  was  suddenly  found  dead  in  her  seat.  Well  that 
morning,  to  all  appearance,  at  noon  she  had  passed  to  judgment ; 
and  this  without  alarming  the  family.  Olivia  was,  of  course, 
terribly  shocked  by  the  event.  She  had  retired  inconsolable  to 
her  chamber.  She  was  so  tenderly  attached  to  Anita,  and  Anita 
so  tenderly  attached  to  her  !  Her  affection  was  very  great,- - 
great  indeed  ; — so  great,  that  he,  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro,  wa.-s 
exceedingly  anxious  for  her  health  ; — and  so  forth."  "  And  so 
good  morning  to  you,  Sefiores." 

"  An  old  hag  !"  exclaimed  Nuno  de  Tobar  to  his  companion 
as  soon  as  they  had  got  fairly  beyond  the  premises, — "  one  of 

114 


ANITA'S  SUCCESSOR.  115 

the  ugliest  and^nost  fiendish-looking  human  vultures  you  ever 
beheld.  As  for  her  attachment  to  Olivia,  or  Olivia's  to  her,  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it.  I  never  saw  any  proofs  of  it  myself,  and 
have  heard  many  tilings  which  lead  me  to  think  there  could  be 
no  attachment  between  them.  In  fact,  Leonora  tells  me  that 
Anita  was  no  more  than  a  spy  upon  the  poor  girl,  whose  steps 
were  watched  as  carefully  as  if  every  bush  concealed  a  lover, 
and  behind  every  tree  stood  an  armed  man  ready  to  snatch  her 
up  and  make  off  with  her.  Be  sure,  Don  Balthazar  has  no  de 
sire  that  she  should  pass  from  any  keeping  but  his  own.  He 
enjoys  too  much  good  picking  from  the  estates  of  Olivia  to  give 
her  up  without  a  struggle.  There  is  a  strange  story  about  a 
.silver  mine  which  lie  has  somehow  wholly  appropriated  to  him 
self;  and  by  all  accounts,  he  may  well  dread  the  day  of  reckon- 
ii:ur  with  th«-  man  who  shall  become  her  husband.  For  this  rea 
son  he  keeps  her  immured  as  much  as  possible;  and  it  is  certain 
that  no  gentleman  can  obtain  access  to  his  dwelling  without  find 
ing  himself  watched.  You  must  continue,  Philip,  your  visits 
when  the  uncle  is  known  to  be  busy  elsewhere.  There  is  some 
thin^  gained,  I  am  thinking,  by  the  death  of  this  old  woman. 
It  tea  ^pecial  providence  in  your  behalf.  See  that  you  make 

;'  it." 

The  calculations  of  Nuno  de  Tobar,  in  respect  to  the  advan 
tages  gained  in  favor  of  the  larger  liberty  of  Olivia  by  the  death 
of  Anita,  were  somewhat  those  of  Olivia  herself;  for,  in  spite 
of  the  shock  which  she  had  received  by  that  event,  and  the  nat 
ural  horrors  which  were  taught  her  by  her  own  secret  conscious. 
ness  of  the  cause  of  it,  she  could  not  avoid  reflecting  upon  the 
probable  increase  of  her  own  securities  in  consequence.  They 
were  both  deceived.  That  very  night,  the  place  of  Anita  was 
filled  by  another  old  woman,  another  creature  of  Don  Balthaxar, 
not  so  ugly,  perhaps,  or  so  old  as  her  predecessor,  but  equally 
hard  favored  and  un-cnipuloiH.  Sylvia  was  a  me-ti/o  also, 
brought  from  one  of  tin-  hacienda-  of  the  estate,  a  few  miles  in 
the  country.  Olivia  had  seen  and  known  her  before.  Hie  sight 
of  this  woman,  in  her  new  situation,  left,  her  little  hope  of  profit 


116  VASCONSELOS. 

by  the  death  of  Anita.  Sylvia  was  as  subtle  as  the  former,  and 
no  less  the  willing  tool  of  her  employer.  She  had  all  the  fierce 
malignity  of  mood  characteristic  of  the  hybrid  race  to  which 
she  belonged, — a  people  usually  of  fierce  passions,  sudden  im 
pulses,  capricious  impulse,  and  tenacious  of  the  sense  of  wrong 
and  injury  to  the  latest  moment  of  existence.  Don  Baltha/ar 
knew  his  creatures  well,  and  satisfied  of  this  fact,  Olivia,  for  the 
moment,  resigned  herself  to  despair  again. 

But  she  found  an  unexpected  ally,  where  she  least  looked  for 
one,  in  the  person  of  the  young  serving  girl,  Juana.     This  girl 
was  the  grand-daughter  of  Anita.     The  event  which  put  another 
in  the  place  of  her  grandmother,  had  also  its  injurious  conse 
quences   to   herself.     She    naturally    regarded   herself   as   the 
heiress  of  her  kinswoman ;  and  knowing  how  large  and  various 
had  been  the  accumulations  of  the  latter,  her  expectations  were 
correspondingly  large.     To  her  consternation,  the  successor  to 
the  place  of  Anita  at  once  usurped  possession  of  all  her  stores. 
Juana  was  driven  out  from  the  precincts  altogether,  and  com 
pelled  to  confine  herself  to  the  little  chamber  which  she  had  long 
occupied,  adjoining  that  of  Olivia.     Sylvia  had  assumed  the  en 
tire  control  of  the  household,  and  her  usurpations,  in  a  few  hours, 
were  such  as  to    satisfy  Juana   that  her  expectations  from  the 
savings  of  her  grandmother  were  all  cut  off.     Si;    was  held  in 
no  more  favor  than  her   mistress,  and  soon  foun .'.    erself  under 
an  authority  which  was  disposed  to  submit  to   su.  questioning. 
Sylvia  had  her  own  children  and  grand-children  to  provide  for. 
Juana  was  dreadfully  indignant.     She  did  not  dare  to  approach 
Don  Balthazar  with  her  griefs ;  but  she  condescended  to  confide 
to  Olivia.     In  her  passion  she  revealed  to  her  all  the  secrets  of 
their  mutual  prison-house,  all  at  least  that  she  knew,  and  thus, 
in  a  measure,  confirmed  the  unhappy  irirl  in  the  conviction  which 
she  had  already  been  compelled  to  foci,  that  she  was  the  victim 
of  a  thousand  cruel  arts.     Juana  swore  to  have  her  revenges, 
and  better   to  secure   sympathy,  she   promised  Olivia  that  she 
should  have;   redress  also.      What,  \\vre  her   plans  of  vengeance 
the  did   not  declare;  but  when   questioned   in  respect    to  h«-r 


OLIVIA'S  ALLY.  117 

means  and  opportooitiaa,  contented  herself  with  a  knowing  look, 
;ind  a  sagacious  shaking  of  the  head.  She  was  naturally  a  stu 
pi.l  wciu-h,  but  possessed  that  sort  of  animal  cunning  which  is  so 
iVc.mently  found  in  connection  with  a  base  and  feeble  intellect. 
Fur  tlu-  proem  nothing  could  be  extracted  from  her,  and  the 
busine—  of  the  household  went  on  without  disorder,  and  with 
no  apparent  interruption.  But,  as  we  shall  see  in  the  sequel, 
J  uana  \\as  busy  after  a  fashion  of  her  own. 

Hut  the  day,  thus  distinguished  by  the  startling  events  which 
we  have  recorded,  was  not  at  an   end.     Olivia  sat.  alone  in  the 

iah.  The  evening  meal  had  been  set  before  her  by  Juana, 
but  had  been  carried  out  untasted.  She  had  no  appetite  just 
then  for  mortal  food.  Her  soul  was  still  agitated  to  its  depths, 
as  the  sea  that  heaves  up  tumultuously  with  all  its  waves,  though 
the  winds  which  have  swept  it  with  fearful  strife,  have  wholly 

i  and  gone.  She  lay  reclined  upon  the  settee  of  wicker- 
work  where  we  beheld  her  during  her  morning  interview  with 

•nselos.  There  was  no  light  in  the  apartment ;  none,  in 
fact,  was  neec-sary,  while  the  moon  glinting  through  groves  of 
orange  and  anana,  sufficed  for  the  desires  of  the  sad  and  contempla 
tive  spirit.  The  gay  gleams  flitted  over  the  floor  of  the  veran 
dah,  and  glided,  stealthily  and  faintly,  to  the  interior  of  the 
apartment,  otherwise  dimly  shaded  by  the  massive  foliage  which 
curtained  the  opening  in  front.  Here,  saddening  under  the 
sad  sweetness  of  the  scene,  Olivia  brooded, — absorbed  in  ru 
minating  the  events  and  the  prospects  of  a  life,  which,  at  its  verv 
1'iiddir  1  already  shrouded  with  a  blight.  Her  heart 

sunk  within  her  a-  she  thought;all  was  dark  in  the  future;  all 
gloomy,  grievous,  and  reproachful  in  the   past.     At  length   she 
\v«pt,  and  found  a  momentary  relief  in  her  tears.     The  big  drops 
for  red   their   way    through  her    fingers, — tears  of  a    bitt> 
which  proved  superior  to  all  the  sweets  promised  by  an  all < 
whi-  h  \sa>  only  too  precious  to  her  hop.'-. 

II.-  IOVM  Mfti"  wa>  h  r  exclamation.  ''He  loves  mi — he- - 
the  only  man  for  whom  this  heart  ha^  ever  felt  a  passion.  I 
caimot  mistake  his  silent  admiration.  I  cannot  doubt  the  broken 


118  VASCONSELOS. 

meaning, — the  imperfect  sentiment — in  these  hesitating  words 
and  oh !  were  it  but  that  I  could  bear  his  glances  with  this 
dreadful  and  humiliating  secret  in  my  heart,  how  heavenly  were 
uuch  a  love.  But  how  to  enjoy  his  affections,  yet  betray  his 
confidence  !  How,  unworthy  as  I  am,  to  receive  his  embraces ! 
—How  place  my  head — how  bury  my  face  in  the  bosom  whose 
faith  I  have  deceived  !  Impossible  !  no,  Philip  de  Yascoriselos, 
— precious  as  I  hold  thee  to  my  heart,  I  must  deny  myself  even 
more  than  1  deny  thee.  Thou  wilt  come,  but  it  must  be  for 
denial  only.  I  de^y  thee  for  thy  bettor  fortune.  Thou  wilt  go 
hence  ;  go  upon  the  path  of  conquest  ;  and  ambition  will  rightly 
take  the  place  of  love !  Though  I  die  to  own  thee,  yet  I  never 
will  be  thine." 

She  had  spoken  audibly  this  soliloquy.  It  made  its  way  to 
other  ears,  though  her  own  were  scarcely  conscious  of  its  import. 
From  the  dense  masses  of  shade  at  the  foot  of  the  verandah, 
came  a  voice  in  answer  : 

"  A  wise  resolution,  Olivia, — a  very  wise  resolution !  But  one 
thou  wilt  hardly  be  prepared  to  keep.  The  morning  sun  will 
bring  thee  fresh  hopes  and  fancies  ;  the  evening  will  bring  thee 
thy  lover  with  the  moonlight ;  and  thou  wilt  forget  the  vow  as 
if  it  were  written  in  water  !" 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  speaker's  voice,  Olivia  half  started 
from  the  settee  on  which  she  reclined.  But,  as  she  recognized 
the  accents  of  Don  Balthazar,  she  schooled  her  mood  to  indiffer 
ence  ;  drawing  a  long  deep  breath,  and  looking  a  mixed  scorn  and 
hatred,  which,  could  her  features  have  been  seen  at  the  moment, 
would  have  embodied  a  truthful  portrait  of  those  of  Medea, 
about  to  take  her  flight  for  Athens,  in  her  chariot  dyed  with  tin- 
gore  of  her  kindred.  Intense  and  bitter  was  the  momentary 
feeling  of  indignation  which  darkened  her  cheeks  with  red,  only 
to  subside,  in  the  next  instant,  into  a  more  than  mortal  paleness. 
The  uncle  advanced  from  the  thicket  and  ascended  to  the  veran 
dah.  He  approached  her,  flung  his  cap  upon  a  table,  and  seated 
Himself  at  her  side.  She  recoiled  from  him,  retreating  to  the 
end  of  the  settee. 


TIIK    VOKS.  119 

"  So  hostile  still  !"  said  In-.     M  Wei'.  !   It  is  perhaps  reasonable 
enough,  though   it  comport*   little  with   thy  resolution.      It'  thou 
wilt  shake  oil*  the  knLrht>  of  Portugal,  tliere  is  no  need   to  - 
me  with    thorn.      Nay,   tor    the    very    n-jix.ni    that    they    d«  ; 
should  1  be  Mitlered  to  remain.     Let  me  say,  Olivia,  that   1  re- 
jokv  in  thy  resolution.     It  is  wise — it  is  prudent.     It  would  i,- 
do  for  thee  to  wed  with  Philip  de  Vasconselos  " 

"  And  wherefore  not  ?" 

"  Ah !  there  are  sufficient  reasons." 

"None  which  concern  thee,  at  least.  If  I  have  so  resolved,  it 
is  for  a  reason  of  mine  own,  the  force  of  which  it  te  little  likely 
that  thou  shouldst  feel." 

"  Be  it  so !  It  is  enough  that  thou  hast  resolved.  I  care  not 
to  know  the  motive  for  a  decision  which  is  yet  grateful  to  my 
mind.  Thou  hast  resolved !  and  yet  I  somewhat  wonder  at  th<  <• 
Olivia." 

"  Thou  know'st  me  not." 

"  Thou  wilt  scarce  keep  to  thy  resolution." 

u  Thou  know'st  me  not." 

"  Ha  !  did  I  not  see  thee  when  he  was  urging  thee,  as  still  the 
passionate  lover  knows  how  to  urge  his  suit?  Did  1  not  see  thee 
tremble,  even  though  thou  reooiledst  from  his  supplications  ?  DM 
I  not  see  the  yielding  weakness  in  thy  lip  and  eye — hear  it  in  the 
tremors  of  thy  voice — know  it  in  what  I  know  of  the  pa->i..n  for 
him  which  >tirs  in  all  thy  soul?  Thou  woul«Ut  have- yielded. 
at  one  moment— nay,  at  another!— Iain  curious,  Oli  via.  Wh.-iv- 

at  certain  moments,  when  his  hand  had  taken  thine  into  . 
k.-.-pin^.  and  when  thy  whole  heart  was  inciting  to  his  prrMia-iv 
words — wherefore,    then,  did»t  thou    break  away,  and  spi-nk  of 
thy  guitar,  and  of  idle  minstrelsy?" 

"  Said  I  not, — thou  know'st  me  not  ?" 

"  But  wherefore  ?" 

"Thou  didst  not  «rivi>  h.-ed  to  the  words  he  uttered." 

"Nay,  but  I  did.  They  wm:  words  of  pa-Mon  and  devotion. 
such  as  well  befit  such  an  occasion.  They  were  well  chosen 
words  of  love,  I  trow;  and  they  w.  re  passing  sweet,  I  am  err 


VASCONSELOS. 

tain,  in  thy  ears.  Why  just  then  didst  them  recoil  from  him,  evei 
;i>  from  an  udder  thou  hadst  startled  in  thy  path, — evade  his  sup 
plications, — changing  the  course  of  his  thought,  and  of  thy  own, 
and  seeking  to  divert  him  from  his  purpose,  only  that  he  might 
hear  how  deftly  thou  couldst  linger  thy  guitar  ?" 

"  And  think'st  thou  I  had  such  motive  ?" 

"What  else?" 

"  I  tell  thee  again,  thou  know'st  me  not !  Heard'st  thou  tlie 
words  which  he  poured  into  mine  ears  ?" 

"  What  words  ?  I  noted  that  he  was  warming  to  thee  with  no 
doubtful  purpose.  Didst  thou  mistake  him  ?" 

"  No !  I  knew— I  felt  his  purpose  ;  and  had  his  words  been 
otherwise  chosen,  I  had  probably  been  base  enough  to  listen,  and 
weak  enough  to  yield!  Ah!  uncle!  hadst  thou  not  utterly 
hardened  thy  soul  against  all  that  is  noble,  the  words  which  Don 
Philip  employed  had  smitten  upon  thy  senses  equally  with  mine, 
and  thou  hadst  felt  a  shudder  and  a  cold  shame  pass  over  thee. 
such  as  made  me,  perforce,  refuse  to  listen  to  the  devotion  of 
lluit  love  which  I  could  not  help  but  feel." 

"  What  words  are  these?     They  spoke  for  his  love  only  !" 

"  More  !  more !  There  were  words  in  his  speech  which  were 
as  poisoned  arrows  to  my  heart." 

"How!  what?" 

"  For  my but  no !  no !  why  should  I  repeat  to  thee  ?  Thou 

wilt  not  feel  as  I  do — thou  canst  not !  Enough,  that  I  strove  to 
avoid  the  professions  which  I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  answer. 
I  would  have  him  abandon  his  purpose,  and  seek  me  no  more. 
Let  him  find  one  who,  though  she  may  love  him  less  profoundly, 
will  be  more  deserving  of  his  affections.  It  is  because  I  so  muck 
love  him,  that  I  will  deny  his  prayer.  I  dare  not  dishonor  a  heart 
which  is  so  precious  to  my  own." 

The  uncle  rose  from  his  seati  and  stood  intently  gazing  for  i 
moment,  in  silence,  upon  the  excited  features  of  the  damsel.  She 
had  exhibited  to  his  mind  a  virtue  beyond  his  understanding.  He 
approached  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  She  recoiled 
from  his  touch. 


WOMAN'S    FAILING.  121 

"  Verily,  Olivia,  thou  art  but  a  very  simple  child." 

"Child  !  Oh!  would  to  Heaven  I  were!  but  I  am  not.  Thou 
reed  upon  me  too  dreary  an  experience  of  age — of  thy 
ag» — to  In-  a  child — of  thy  sex,  to  be  properly  sensible  of  mine. 
Thou  hast  crushed  me  wi;h  a  deadly  weight  of  knowledge  !  Thy 
tutorship  has  taken  from  me  all  the  sweet  ignorance  of  child  hood. 
Alas  !  1  know  too  mueh  for  childhood  as  well  as  peace!  neither 
shall  I  ever  know  again  !" 

"  Thy  fit  is  again  coming  on  thee,  Olivia !" 

"  Fit !  I  tell  thee.  Don  Haltha/ar  de  Alvaro,  that,  though  thou 
hast  the  power  to  destroy  me.  and  every  hope  which  is  mine.  1 
will  not  snd'er  thee  to  mock  me  with  thy  taunts!  Fit!  Verily, 
if  it  were  foaming  madness,  it  were  in  reason,  in  proper  accord 
ance  with  my  wrongs  ;i;id  sorrows.  Should  I  not  be  maddened  ! 
Should  I  not  rave  from  the  house-top  «f  sueh  wrongs  as  might 
the  heauiis  and  the  earth  to  shudder  I1' 

"And  wherefore  rave  ?  Thou  seest  how  idle!  1  can  well  con 
ceive  how  much  thou  feel'st  the  loss  of  sueh  a  knight  as  Philip 
de  Va-i -oiisdos — for,  of  a  truth,  a  more  noble  cavalier  treads  not 
,!„.  [sle  Of  Cuba '' 

•   \o  more  !  no  more!" 

It  seemed  the  humor  of  Don  Balthazar  to  chafe  the  sore  spot 
in  her  soul,  and  he  continued  : 

••  Well,  what  say'st  thou  to  Augustin  de  Sinolar  ]" 

••  \\ii-.  didst  thou  bring  him  hither  to-day  1     II  >uit  to 

theeb.  •     ..     > .,iil  1  not  then,  that  I  scorn  this  man  I  )e  Sin-  >lar  .'"' 

"So! — thou  rejeetest  I )e  Sinolar  because  thou  seorn'st  him.  and 
nsetaa   l»ecau-e  thou   l«>vest  him  ?     This,  my  ( >livia.  is   l,ut 
eiiild's  play.      Let  me  show  thee  thy  folly.      Thou  h;t-' 
It  is  mj  a  well  as  ihine,  but  I  have  every  confidence  that 

thou  wilt  keep  it  faithfully.      Now,  to  h 

never  likes  to  reveal,  is  jiist  the  failing  of  every  woman  since  tlm 
t'  Kve.     . I  ust  such  a  secret  as  thine,  troubles  every  damsel 
fair  as  thou  art!" 

"  Impossible  !" 

"  True,  my  child  !     True  !     But  should  it  make  Jier  miserable  I 
I 


122  VASCONSELOS. 

She  has  eaten  certain  fruits  which  are  forbidden,  but  she  has  sens* 
enough  to  wipe  her  mouth  after  eating,  and  who  is  the  wiser  1 
Now,  this  act  of  wiping  the  mouth  is  very  simple.  Shalt  thou 
then  deny  thyself  the  privilege  of  eating  again  when  it  pleases 
thee  ?  Shalt  thou  deny  thyself,  because  of  a  past  error — if  it 
pleases  thee  so  to  call  it — to  partake  of  even  more  precious  fruits, 
which  thou  dost  really  desire?  Wherefore?  What  wisdom  in 
it?  No!  no!  I  love  thee,  Olivia,  and  will  teach  thee  better 
policy.  I  have  resolved  for  thee,  and  if  thou  ever  wed'st,  thou 
shalt  wed  with  De  Sinolar." 

"  Name  not  that  thing,  De  Sinolar,  to  me." 

"  True,  he  is  a  thing,  that  is  certain  ; — and  so  far  acceptable.  I 
lather  prefer  him  on  that  account.'* 

"  That  thou  may'st  the  better  use  him  !  For  that  thou  may'st 
make  a  dog  of  him  without  endowing  him  with  a  dog's  courage." 

"  Perhaps  !  perhaps  !" 

"  But  I  shall  never  wed.    So  forbear  this  cruel  talk,  I  pray  thee." 

"  I  cannot  trust  thy  resolution,  Olivia.  I  fear  that  when  Philip 
de  Vasconselos  iv-xt  approaches  thee  with  the  words  of  soliciting, 
thou  wilt  answer  him  with  the  words  of  consent." 

"No!  no!  no!" 

"  Yet,  verily,  thpu  lovest  that  man  ! " 

"  I  deny  it  not !  It  is  my  boast,  when  spoken  to  thy  ears.  It 
were  my  pride,  were  I  other  than  1  am,  to  make  declaration  of  my 
love  abroad  to  all  mankind.  I  love  him  as  man  never  was  l«ved 
before ;  and  it  is,  as  I  have  said  to  thee  already,  it  is  even  because  I 
so  much  love,  that  I  will  not  marry  him.  I  will  not  do  him  such 
grievous  wrong!  Oh!  uncle,  thou  hast  destroyed  my  hope  ajid 
happiness  forever.  Thou  \\\\>i  abused  the,  trust  of  my  dear  tiu 
ther — thou  the  shepherd,  that  hast  thyself  been  the  wolf  to  de 
stroy  the  lamb." 

A  paroxysm  of  tears  followed  this  speech.  The  uncle  smiled 
contemptuously.  He  knew  that  tin;  more  violent  passion  was 
usually  weakened  in  the  access  of  tears.  She  looked  suddenly  up 
and  caught  the  expression  ;  and  a  passionate  pride  rose  up  in  her 
•oul  to  her  relief 


THE    WoLF    AT    BAT.  128 

"Th  m  moek'st,  I  Bee!     Now.  I  ee,  Don  Balthazar  de 

Alvaro!  thi .u  hadst  better  stay  thy  tortures.  'Hiou  know'st  me 
tin-  tires  which  jnvy  upon  my  -<>ul  like  those  of  a  volcano. 
Better  thoii  shouldst,  without  weapon  or  preparation,  aroti-e  the 
she-wolf  in  thf  cavern  with  her  \oung.  than  v.-x  me  farther  with 
thy  taunts.  Beware!  I  h.ive  hern  weak,  and  thoii  hast  taken  me 
at  'vantage.  But  it"  I  am  weak,  I  am  blind  no  longer  ;  and  if  not 
Mrong  to  hear,  I  am.  at  K-a-t.  tempered  to  r.^i-t  ami  to  ; 
The  very  pa->ions  thoii  ha-t  goaded  it, 

rs  in  the  end.      Icoun^i-1  the.-  1  to  what  I  say.      He 

I  am  eaj>al>le  of  tiling  rven  more  evil  than  thoii  think'st 
for.  an«l  there  U  a  limit  beyoii'l  which  it  were  well  for  thee  not  to 
go.  Once  more  I  warn  th>v.  I  have  ha<l  sueh  bitter  thouizhts 
and  fe.-j!r_r^  towards  thee.  that  did>t  th«)U])rcss  me  much  further. 
I  frel  as  it'  I  could  slay  thee  with  a  daj^T,  i-vcn  as  1  wi»uld  strike 

!>ent  that  crept  to  my  i.o-om  while  I  slejit."' 

Sin-  had  risen  while  -he  Bpofc  him.  wild  and 

with   lla>liini:  dark    eye.  and  white  arm  waving.      He 

survey. -d    her  with    a    stern   and    frowning    brow,  but    somewhat 

coldly     his  lips  c<uu  ;s  if  with  a    ferliiiu'  of  pride  and 

.  —  and  his  ,-ye   looking  into   her-  with  the    bright  lixi-dn- >- 

which   that  of  th'-  >«-r|)ent    is  -ai  1   to   **\\<>\\-   when   f-i<cinatinLr  tin- 

bird  from  the  tree.    Thnv  wa-  'he  parti. •<  -till  regarding 

each  Other,  v-ling.  looking  on  him  with  a  raided  s|.irit.  an»i 

wild,  fiery   glan.-e;    :.  r«'turninur   th-  adta-tlv — 

coolly  if  not    calmly,  and    apparently  re^-rving    himself  ft  r  the 

neiit.      At    length,  he  spoke.  \vr\  M   if 

v  svllable. 

"1    think    I    do    kn  '  Mivia    de    Alvaro.  and    something 

know  of  what  thoii  art  capaltle  in  thy  pa— ion.  Have  I  i 
late,  likened  thee  to  thy  Bi-cayan  mother?  and  her  I  knev. 
oughly.  Let  me  convince  thee  that  I  do  n  I  e  too  hum- 

blv  tl. .  of  evil.     Sit  down    once    more  while   I  «ji. 

Th'-:.  i  and  qui  >t  in  the  aiithoritv  of  hi* 

.:id  words,  that,  from  habit    metvl    ,  the   dam  el  sub; 


124  VASCONSELOS. 

and  resumed  her  seat.     Steadily  looking  into  her  face,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  speak  again,  as  deliberately  as  before. 

"Didst  thou  know,  Olivia,  that  the  poor  old  woman,  Anita, 
was  poisoned?  She  died  from  no  old  age,  but  from  a  deadly 
liquor  which  she  was  made  to  drink." 

The  listener  grew  white  as  death.  Her  knees  shook  beneath 
her.  Her  tongue  was  frozen. 

"  Ay,  Olivia,  some  loving  hand  drenched  her  posset  with  a  too 
bountiful  allowance  !  Dost  thou  know  this  kerchief,  Olivia  f 

He  showed  it.     It  was  her  own.     She  was  silent. 

"This  kerchief  did  I  find  where  the  person  was  concealed  who 
drugged  the  old  woman's  draught." 

He  paused,  as  if  awaiting  the  answer.     But  none  was  spoken. 

"  Thou  hast  nothing  to  say.  Well !  It  is  enough.  Not  to 
speak  is  sufficiently  to  answer  at  such  a  moment.  But,  let  me 
say  to  thee  farther,  my  child,  it  is  known  to  me  that  thou  thyself 
wast  the  last  in  the  chamber  of  Anita  last  night!  Shouklst  thou 
think,  now,  that  1  am  ignorant  of  what  thou  art  capable?  -It  was 
thy  hand,  Olivia  de  Alvaro,  that  drugged  the  old  woman's 
draught  with  death." 

"And  if  it  were,  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro,"  exclaimed  Olivia, 
rising,  and  resuming  all  her  strength  and  courage,  as  she  beheld 
'he  air  and  listened  to  the  tone  of  superiority  which  he  employ 
ed — "and  if  it  were  my  hand,  then  were  my  hand  rightly  i-m- 
plo\  rd  in  punishing  one  who  has  been  a  murderess  to  me.  And 
had  my  hand  served  thee  with  the  same  fatal  drug,  then  were  I 
also  justified  in  the  sight  of  man  and  heaven.  Go  to,  Senor,  thou 
shalt  not  alarm  Or  confound  me.  I  am  prepared,  when  thou  art 
so  pleased,  to  listen  to  thee  as  thou  reportest  all  thy  story  to  the 
world.  I  fear  thee  not — I  know  not  now  that  I  fear  anything  in 
life.  Thou  hast  brought  me  to  this  desperation.  Yet  know,  that 
when  I  mixed  the  drug  with  the 'draught  of  Anita,  I  knew  it  not 
as  a  deadly  poison.  I  knew  it  only,  and  believed  it  to  be  no 
more  than  a  stupefying  drug,  such  as  wrap  the  senses  in  an  un 
natural  and  temporary  slumber.  As  thou  knowest  so  mu»-h.  it 
is  not  unlikely  that  thou  knowest,  also,  that  I  beheld  thee  and 


A    WARNING.  126 

Anita  in  -nee  in    regard    to   my  fate,  on  the   night 

when  that  drug  was  mixed  with  her  win*- .'  I  -aw  ln-r,  a\.  and 
thee,  a-  the  fatal  phial  \\as  held  between  \e  to  lli--  light,  and  \  .• 
.  ved  together  that  mv  potion  was  to  he  increa-ed.  \Va>  it 
unreasonable  if  I  thought  tin-  goi«Hy  medicine  which  ye  designed 
for  me,  in  your  charity,  it  WM  but  fitting  that  ye  also  >hould 
partake?  I  wished  to  commend  ye.  aK«>  to  such  b!es>ed  viM.m.s 
Ai.d  dreams.  as  \e  nightly  and  daily  prepared  for  me.  1  would, 
nave  ye  too  enjoy  that  insen>ible  respose,  which  ye  deeiv.-d  be 
tween  ye  should  lighten  my  cares,  and  keep  me  from  the  feeling 
of  my  cruel  wrongs;  and  had  it  heeii  possible,  Don  Baltha/ar. 
that  1  could  have  mingled  the  drug  with  thy  own  wine-,  im.  this 
hand  should  fearlessly  have  done  it; — not,  I  atVinn,  as  meaning 
that  it  should  be  fata'  o  thy  life,  but  as  forcing  you  to  such  trial 
of  those  sutlerings  of  mine  which  have  never  yet  compelled  voiir 
pity  and  forbearance  !  Now,  that  you  know  of  what  I  am  capa 
ble,  1  again  bid  ye  beware!  You  know  the  terms  between  us. 
1  loathe  you,  and  I  fear  you;  yet  so  little  do  I  fear  the  world  of 
man.  that,  were  it  not  for  one  who  lives  among  ve,  I  should  com 
mission  you  freely  to  declare  aloud  all  that  you  have  made  me 
and  all  that  I  am!  Nay,  the  time  may  come,  when.  heedle->  of 
ih«'  -haine  which  shall  follow  from  this  speech,  I  mvself  shall  i,r" 
out  into  the  highways  of  the  citv,  and  speak  aloud  the  truth  mv 
self!" 

1  )on    Balthazar   was    silenced.      Kor  the    moment,  he    had    i    . 

'.  1  left  the  verandah,  and  passed  into  the  gr.   . 
around    it  ;   while    Olivia,    thoroughly    exhausted,  but    no    loi.. 
nvmiiluiis    oi    te:-.ri'ul.    r»  <•    \\ith   a    firm    frame    and    spirit,   and 
moved  quietly  to  her  chain 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  Cymb  The  time  is  troublesome  : 

We'll  slip  you  for  a  season  ;  but  our  jealousy 
Does  yet  depend."  SHAS 

PHILIP  DE  VASCONSELOS  did  not,  as  was  anticipated  by  Don  Bal 
thazar,  and  wirmly  counselled  by  Nuno  de  Tobar,  return  imme 
diately  to  the  attempt  upon  the  affections  of  Olivia  de  Alvaro. 
It  would  have  been  quite  enough  to  preclude  his  visit  for  that  day 
and  the  next,  at  least,  that  there  had  been  a  death  in  the  family  j 
an  event,  however,  to  which  his  more  reckless  friend  attached  no 
sort  of  importance.  But  there  was  another  reason  for  delay  and 
hesitation  :  Philip  had  no  such  confidence  in  his  own  position, 
no  such  faith  in  his  own  powers,  no  such  conviction  of  the  favor 
able  regards  of  the  lady,  as  was  asserted  by  Nuno.  He  was,  on 
tin-  contrary,  troubled  with  many  misgivings,  which  grew  in  dif 
ficulty  the  more  he  examined.  The  very  fact  that  he  really  and 
earnestly  loved,  made  him  tremble  at  the  thought  of  precipitating 
his  fate;  and  the  true  lover  is  almost  always  prepared  to  think 
humbly  of  his  own  claims,  in  view  of  that  supposed  perfection  which 
he  reeogni/i's  in  the  lady  of  his  love.  Besides,  with  the  natural 
delicacy  of  a  proud  and  honorable  mind,  conscious  of  his  own 
poverty,  he  felt  the  awkwardness  of  a  suit  to  one  who  was  in  the 
possession  of  great  riches.  He  felt  how  easy  it  was  to  suspect 
the  motives  of  such  a  suitor,  and  dreaded  lest  such  a  suspicion 
should  taint  the  mind  of  the  lady  herself.  Not  that  he  was  dis 
posed  to  forego  his  suit  because  of  this,  or  any  other  considera 
tion.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  resolved  to  bring  it  to  the  trial, 
and  know  the  worst  as  soon  as  he  could  think  it  proper  to  do  so. 
But  all  his  conclusions  counselled  him  to  delay.  Nor  must  we 
allow  it  to  be  supposed  that  he  was  without  his  encouragements. 


LOVER'S    1IOPES.  127 

He  persuaded  himself  that  there  was  much  in  what  had  taken 
place  between  himself  and  Olivia  in  that  last  interview,  to  show 
that  she  was  very  far  from  insensible  to  his  pretensions.  It  is 
true  that  there  were  tilings  in  her  carriage — some  curious  caprices 
of  mood  and  manner,  whicii  he  found  it  not  easy  altogether 
to  comprehend.  But  there  was  still  enough  to  please  a  lov 
er;  and  to  persuade  one,  even  less  bold  and  ardent  than  our 
hero,  to  continue  a  pursuit  in  which  he  had  certainly  suffered  no 
repulse.  She  had  evaded  his  application,  but  she  had  shown  a 
peculiar  sensibility  at  his  approach.  She  had  trifled  somewhat 
when  he  was  seriously  earnest,  but  what  was  the  meaning  of  her 
tremors  when  her  fair  white  hand  lingered  within  his  grasp  ?  and 
had  she  not  encouraged  his  return? — and  had  she  not  declared  an 
interest  in  his  presence  in  Cuba,  in  language  too  impressive  to  be 
wholly  without  that  desirable  signification  which  the  lover  seeks? 
Vasconselos  was  very  far  from  being  discouraged — nay,  without 
heeding  the  confident  assurance  of  Nuno  de  Tobar,  he  felt  a  new 
hope  springing  within  his  bosom  at  every  moment  of  increased 
reflection;  and,  ere  the  day  was  well  over,  he  had  resolved  to 
bring  his  doubts  to  an  issue,  at  least,  before  the  departure  of  the 
expedition.  It  was  his  farther  resolution,  if  successful  in  his 
suit,  to  abandon  the  adventure  with  De  Soto.  For  that  matter, 
he  had  partly  determined  thus,  whatever  might  be  the  result  of  his 
courtship.  This  conclusion  was  reach*  d  that  very  night,  and 
the  next  morning,  when  he  was  visited  by  Tobar,  he  unhesitat 
ingly  declared  it,  to  the  great  consternation  of  that  young  gallant. 
The  latter  enabled  him  to  do  so,  without  effort,  by  rallying  him 
on  the  score  of  his  amour. 

"  Where  were  you  last  night,  Philip  ?  You  promised  to  be 
with  us,  and  broke  faith.  Truth  to  say,  we  had  the  merriest 
night  of  it  in  the  tent  of  Juan  de  Anasco.  Better  flasks  of  Xm  - 
\\.  re,  never  opened  to  Don  Ferdinand.  All  cried  aloud  against 
yon,  and  cursed  your  drowsy  courtship,  which  Beemfl  to  be  noto 
rious  throughout  the  Island.  Now,  my  good  fellow,  if  you  must 
be  in  love,  there  is  no  good  reason  why  you  should  be  out  of  tb* 


128  VASCONSELOS. 

world.  Ever)  body  a>ks  for  you — they  all  look  for  you  in  vain. 
You  are  lost  to  all  good  fellowship." 

"  You  are  likely  to  lose  me  still  more  completely  than  you 
do  now,  Nuno.  Some  day  j?ou  will  fail  to  see  me  altogether.  1 
mean,  indeed,  to  separate  myself  wholly  from  such  a  band  of 
vicious  profligates,  who  have  no  faith  in  anything  more  lovely 
than  a  ptarl  oyster,  and  yield  their  hearts  to  nothing  less  persua 
sive  than  a  gold  mine.  What  should  I  do  with  such  people; — 1 
who  still  believe  in  love  and  beauty,  and  have  a  heart  still  open 
to  the  pleadings  of  a  woman?  That  I  do  love  is  sufficient  reason 
why  I  should  leave  such  companions.  From  this  day  I  am  going 
to  quit  you  all.  I  propose  even  to  forego  the  expedition  to  Flor 
ida.  It  needs  me  not;  and  there  are  good  reasons  wherefore  I 
should  abandon  it." 

"  Now  the  blessed  saints  forefend,  that  you  should  speak  seri 
ously  this  resolution,  my  friend.  Why,  Philip  de  Vasconselos, 
this  is  mere  madness.  What  reasons  can  you  have  1  That  you 
love  and  would  marry,  and  may  marry  Olivia  de  Alvaro,  is  not 
sufficient  cause,  I  trow,  since  the  one  stands  not  in  the  way  of  the 
other,  if  there  be  any  settled  purpose  in  your  mind  to  go." 

"  Aye.  but  there  is  none." 

"How  !  I  thought  your  going  with  the  expedition  was  quite  a 
settled  matter.  1  know  that  the  Adelantado  counts  confidently 
upon  your  going,  and  holds  it  of  large  importance  to  the  interest  of 
the  expedition  that  you  should  go:  for  you  arc  the  only  person  of 
all  the  party  who  knows  the  tongue  of  the  Floridian,  and  the  pas 
sages  to  his  country." 

"  I  did,  in  some  degree,  prepare  and  consent  to  depart  with 
the  A  lelantado,  but  if  he  counts  upon  my  going  and  values  my 
performance,  he  hath  taken  but  a  strange  course  for  showing  me 
the  estin.ate  he  hath  of  my  services." 

"Truth,  he  hath  neglected  you  soine\\  h  tt.'1 

"  But  this  availeth  little,  and  1  ha\e  no  regrets  and  no  com 
plaints.  Let  it  suffice  tor  \  ou,  Nuno,  that,  for  the  time,  the  |,u-,- 
aiou  for  warlike  adventure  hath  gone  utterly  out  of  my  heart.  I 


129 

look  with  discomfort  at  all  warlike  panoply — I  turn  away  from 
lan.-<  :-tl  with  ft'eling  "'  d;- -omfort.  and  my  shield  g 

at  mo  with  unpleasant  ;  rightness  fn»Mi  the  wall.  Love  hath  sub 
dued  mi"  to  simpler  an.l  sweeter  desires.  1  dream  now  of  long 
floating  hair  and  «1< -wy  !  a  BWeel  song  and  sweeter 

in  tho  shade  of  lemon  groves  in  tin-   star-light." 

"Shame  on  thee,  Yaseonselos,  that  thou  shoiildst  make,  such 
confession!  I  will  report  the*.1  for  a  haugard  through  the  arn.\. 
I  loo  have  had  ,ny  passion^  an«l  my  loveft,  as  thou  knowc-t.  .t:  d 
I  coulu\  on  occasion,  play  me  a  merry  turn  of  sadness  upon  the 
guitar  beneath  my  lady's  lattice,  even  now;  hut  that  she  shouM 
i  me  from  my  love  of  shield  and  spear,  were  impossible!  1 
must  not  believe  thee." 

"Thou  shall!   thou  wilt  !   I  am  the  very  tiling  that  I    tell    thee, 
and  care  nothing  for  all  the  i:«>ld  and  treasure  of  the  Floridian." 
"It  will   greatly  anger  the    adcl&ntado  when   he   hears  of  thy 
ion." 

v.    I    think   he    is    somewhat    prepared    for    it.      He    hath 

.fed    me  with   neglect    from   the   beginning,  in   all   substantial 

things,  and  he  n»w  sh<>\\s  me  a  c«>!d  courtesy,  which  Arg 

tility.      rrhis.  of  it-elf,  were  enough  to    move  me  to  abandon  his 

banner.      Hut   tlioii  aN<>  knowest    how  much  are  we   1'ortug 

the   dislike  of  thy  common   soldiers.      My  brother,  Andres  who 

leads  a  troop   i.f  our   people,  and   a   goodly  one.  hath  a  certain 

measure   of  independence.      Hut    I,  who'  am    only  a  single  ii 

and  lance,    I  have  no  power,  and  lacking  power.  ha\>  ,rity. 

I  could  only  go  as  a  simple  volunteer,  tin-  aid  to  a  superior  who 

hath  shown    me  aveixiim.     See-t   thou  not  how  little   motive  is 

th'-re  left    me  for  this  adventure  ?      Kven   the   pa^e  who  helped 

buckle  on  my  armor  is  withdrawn  from  me.  -imv  he  wait-  also 

:iiy  brother,  and  i-  hU   paid   follower;   and   thix   reminds  me, 

'.Niiiio.  ;h.-it  1  am  ,1-made  blackamoor  ; — 

a  boy  who  -hall   bring  me  water,  unlace   m\   helmet,  and    put  on 

k  and  docile  urchin,  who  shall  be  <mick  a-  will- 

:ui<i   whom,  by    kindm—.  I    CM   make   faithful.      Wilt   thou 

knight,  rhilip  do 

6* 


130  VASCONSELOS. 

conseles,  is  willing  to  pay  a  goodly  sum  in  Castellanos  for  this 
Moorish  urchin  ?" 

"  It  shall  be  done,  Philip ;  but  thou  chafest  me.  I  cannot  lose 
thee  from  this  expedition." 

"  It  may  be  that  the  Lady  Olivia  will  reject  my  hand.  If  it  be 
so " 

"  Nay,  I  know  her  better.  She  will  not  reject  thee.  Leonora 
vows  to  me  that  her  heart  is  full  of  thee  only." 

"  Hath  she  said  this  to  thy  wife  1" 

"  No !  not  in  words ;  but  she  hath  shown  it  in  a  thousand  in 
stances.  My  wife  is  a  laugher,  but  she  hath  an  eye.  She  sees, 
and  I,  too,  see,  Philip,  and  we  have  no  doubts.  It  is  your  own 
modesty  alone  that  seeks  for  them,  and  builds  them  up  into  a 
tower !  I  can  tell  you  what  the  answer  of  the  lady  will  be,  and 
upon  this  you  may  count  with  certainty.  But  you  will  scarcely 
wed  on  the  instant,  even  when  she  accepts  thee.  Some  time 
will  pass,  and  why  not  yield  this  to  a  campaign  in  Florida? 
How  much  better  to  bring  home  a  dowry  for  your  bride,  in  the 
pearl  and  gold  of  the  Apalachian  ?  Nay,  hath  she  not  a  noble 
hacienda,  one  of  the  finest  in  all  the  island,  at  Matelos,  which 
needs  nothing  but  an  adequate  supply  of  slaves,  to  make  it  an 
empire  1  A  single  season  in  Apalachia  will  give  thee  any  num 
ber." 

"  Nay,  let  her  consent  to  my  love,  Nuno,  and  there  shall  be 
no  delay.  We  shall  instantly  wed.  I  like  not  these  long  ga-ps 
between  promise  and  performance.  The;  make  the  heart  sick 
and  the  soul  weary.  Unless  there  be  good  reason,  there  shall  be 
no  delay.  She  shall  be  mine  as  soon  after  she  hath  said  the 
consenting  word  as  the  time  will  suffer  for  the  coming  of  the 
priest  and  the  preparation  of  the  altar.1" 

"  And  Don  Balthazar !  thinkest  thou  he  is  the  person  to  suffer 
thee  so  easily  to  take  possession  ?  I  look  for  trouble  from  that 
quarter." 

"Trouble!  I  tell  thee,  Nuno,  there  is  something  in  fin-  aspect 
of  that  man  which  so  offends  my  nature,  that  it  will  go  hard  with 
j»e  if  I  do  not  take  him  by  the  beard  on  the  first  occasion,  J 


A   CHAMiK    OF   VIEW.  131 

nave  somehow,  among  men,  an  infallible  instinct  for  knowing 
an  eiicMiv.  even  as  mo-t  men  have  the  in-tinct  for  knowing  when 
there  N  venom  in  reptile  ami   Insect      My  >oul  >eems  to  lift  my 
W  1  behold  him,  with  the  feeling  that  I  ought  to  cru^h." 

li  one  who  hath  power  and  policy.  He 
hath  ci  mi-age,  too,  ami  is  known  for  a  man  of  pn.we-s  in  arms. 
You  know  that  the  adelantado  hath  made  him  Captain-General 

of  th- 

"Ha!  thni  he  departs  with   the  expedition?     1   had  thought 

ihN  doubtful." 

"Tin-  appointment  hath  secured   him,  and  some  thousai. 
rastellam>N  besides,  drawn,  I  suspect,  from  the  estates  of  the  fair 
Olivi 

M  \V,-ii.    Irt,   him   depart.     It  is  even    more   important,  if  he 
•hat    1   >hou1d  remain.      Let  Olivia  hut  yield  me  her  favor, 
and  I  can'  not  who  departs.      Nothing  then  should  persuade  me 
to  tliis  wi!.!  enterprise." 

"Ah!    1'hilip,  thou  di.l-t    not  hold  it  so  wild  ere  thou  sawe>t 
the  fair  niece  of  Don  Baltha/ar." 

UI  was  but  a  wild  person  in  that  day  myself." 

"And  why  shouldst  thou  now  deem  it  -o  wild  an  enterprise? 

Thou  wert   a   companion  with  Cabeza  de  Vaca,  and   shared  his 

spoil-,  and  held  with  him  the  opinion  that  the  mountains  of  Apa- 

laehia    contained   treasure-;  of  gold   and  silver  even  greater  than 

Peru  and  Tenochtitlan." 

"And    think    not    otherwise   now.     Hut  to  me  such  treasures 
M  valiif.leN-;  in    comparison  with  others  yrt    more  pre 
cious.     Thou  shalt  enjoy  my  >han-  of  them,  Nuno.     May  they 
make   the.-   r'u-h   and   leave   thee   happy.      Hut.  for  my  happiness, 
!    not    now  to   go   on    shipboard.      I  need  not  carry  lance 
ttgain   aim  mi:  tl.  I,      My  ears  shall  not  pr'u-k  at  the   >um- 

•  •f  tin-  trumpet,  and  I  >hall  soon  K-arn  to  forget  in  the  quiet 
shadows  of  my  jig-tree,  that  I  ever  had  communion  with  wild  and 
profligate  youth  like  thyself." 

"Now  am  I  half  persuaded  to  implore  the  Saints  that  they 
more  against  thee,  and  forbid  this  damsel  to  give  hearing  to  thy 


132  VASCOXSELOS. 

pra\  or.  Thy  passion  for  her  Lids  fair  to  break  the  head  from  one 
of  the  best  lances  of  Castile  !  What  shall  we  do  without  thee  in 
Florida — thou  who  know'st  all  about  the  country,  and  hast  such 
sufficient  knowledge  of  the  infernal  dialect  of  these  savages  of  Apa- 
lachia  ?  When  this  resolution  of  thine  shall  reach  the  ears  of  the 
Adelantado,  he  will  surely  madden.  He  will  carry  thee,  perforce, 
Philip." 

"  Be  thine  the  tongue,  Nuno.  to  make  him  the  report,  that  the 
first  overflow  of  his  anger  will  fall  upon  other  heads  than  mine." 

"  Upon  mi-ne,  thou  meanest  ?  Yet  thou  scarcely  deservest  this 
friendship  from  the  comrade  whom  thou  abandon'st  at  the  en 
trance  of  the  field  !  But  thou  wilt  decide  otherwise,  I  trust;  and 
prove  thyself  true  to  thy  vocation,  if  not  to  the  sex.  He  who 
keeps  faith  with  his  comrade,  need  not  concern  himself  in  regard 
to  pledges  made  to  woman." 

"  Out  upon  thee  for  a  heretic !  But  that  I  know  thee  to  speak 
commonly  a  philosophy  such  as  thou  canst  invent,  and  not  such 
as  thou  believest,  I  should  lift,  lance  against  thee,  though  I  never 
strove  in  tilt  or  combat  again  !  But  get  thee  hence,  and  leave  me  to 
my  meditations.  Thou,  meanwhile,  may'st  employ  thyself,  and 
amuse  the  island,  by  telling  aloud  this  purpose  of  mine  W  aban 
don  the  expedition." 

"  But  thou  wilt  take  part  in  the  tournament?" 

"  Ay,  as  a  point  of  honor  it  is  needful.  We  Portuguese  have 
been  too  much  held  in  disestoem  by  your  proud  Spaniards,  and  I 
am  resolved  to  lower  some  of  the  Iruighty  crests,  which  have 
abused  the  courtesy  of  knighthood.  It  will  be,  perchance,  a  <.  >K-mn 
service,  closing  my  career  in  chivalry.  I  will  then  dedicate  my 
spear  to  the  Gods  of  the  Harvest — and  set  up  an  altar  to  peace., 
where  hitherto  I  have  bowed  only  to  that  of  war!'1 

"  A  Dios  /"  exclaimed  the  young  knight  at  parting.  "  I  go  sadly, 
Philip,  to  make  evil  report  of  thee  to  all  good  companions !'' 

"  A  Dios !"  replied  the  Portuguese — "  I  wish  thee  no  wors<:  evil 
than  that,  in  time,  thnu  shall  come  to  be  full  believer  in  thy  own 
report." 

Nuno  de  Tobar  needed  no  exhortations  on  the  part  of  Philip 


HUNO'i    I'l.ANS.  133 

de  Vasconselos,  to  spread  abroad  tin-  news  of  his  resolution  to 
abandon  the  expedition.  He  was  naturally  given  to  talk  free! v 
all  that  he  knew.  But,  in  publishing  the  matter,  he  aimed  really 
so  to  cause  the  expression  of  regret  among  the  people,  which  he 
kn«-\v  wmild  be  very  general,  a-  to  move  tin-  Adelantado  to  re 
>iew  his  conduct  towards  the  Portuguese  knights,  and  to  repair  the 
evils  .vhieh  had  followed  liis  neglect,  k  was  the  notion  of  Nuno, 
and  it  was  probably  not  without  justice,  that  a  little  more  favor 
^liown  to  these  adventurers  would  have  secured  their  attachment-. 
and  confirmed  them  in  their  desire  for  the  adventure.  It  was  no! 
too  late,  he  fancied,  to  win  Philip  bavk  to  the  enterprise,  and  he 
resolved  freely  to  declare  himself,  to  this  effect,  to  the  ears  of  the 
Adelantado.  The  command  of  a  score  or  two  of  lances,  and  an 
honorable  appointment,  would,  he  persuaded  himself,  so  influence 
Philip  tie  Vasconaelos,  that,  even  if  he  married  Olivia,  he  would 
still  accompany  or  follow  the  expedition.  Was  he  not  about  to 
abandon  his  own  wife,  who  was  both  young  and  beautiful;  and 
did  not  the  Adelantado  himself  do  likewise,  in  respect  to  a  woman 
ii"  Ion  beautiful  than  noble?  He  could  see  no  reason  why  the 
Portuguese  should  exhibit  a  more  feminine  tenderness  and  affec 
tiun  than  either. 

In  th  i  and  this  policy  he  seconded  the  desires  and  opin- 

i"ii  of  POM  P.altha/ar  de  Alvaro.  This  per>on  soon  got  tidings 
of  the  avowed  det,  rm'mation  of  the  knight  of  Portugal.  Nuno 
de  T  .bar  had  given  lar^e  eurrency  to  the  report  in  a  couple  of 
hour<;  but  Philip,  who  was  not  without  his  policy,  and  whose  de- 
circulate  hi-  deeision,  set  other  .  w'ork  in  its 

.-nation.      E  had    Nuno  de  Tobar  disappeared  v,  hen 

ritOF  had  suii^ht  his   lodirinirs  a::d  he  was  shortly  suc 
ceeded  by  a  third.     To  all  of  these  our  knight  was  equally  commu- 

.  .  and  the  news  was  soon  di^per-ed.  as  upon  the  wings  of 
the  wind,  all  o\er  the  city.  I  >oii  P»altha/:tr  was  one  of  the  first 
pers..n-  whom  it  rea 

"Tl    »H  ired!n  he  muttered  to  himself  •' This  knight  is  hope- 
ful  of  -  He  is  not  willing  toforegohisohftDoes.    Hegrows 

confident:   he  will  come  again.      He  will  pr  >no0e,      I  eannot  hide 


134  VASCONSELOS 

her  from  him.  I  cannot  deny  him  entrance.  I  dare  not  hurry  her 
off  to  the  mountains.  He  must  see  her.  Well !  she  has  resolved, 
in  her  refinement  of  virtue,  not  to  accept  him — not  to  marry  him 
or  any  other.  She  loves  him  too  well,  she  says,  to  dishonor  him. 
Very  good !  very  satisfactory,  could  she  keep  her  word — were  she 
firm  in  her  resolution.  But,  is  it  possible  1  Can  I  trust  her  ? 
Is  any  woman  to  be  trusted  where  her  heart  is  full  of  the  one  ob 
ject,  where  the  passions  are  young  and  vigorous,  and  where  the 
opportunities  are  free  1  She  will  tremble  and  hesitate,  and  be 
coy — recede,  yet  loiter, — listen,  and  finally,  forgetting  everything 
except  the  passion  which  she  feels,  she  will  fall  into  his  arms,  and 
he  will  drink  the  moist,  warm  consent  from  her  burning  lips.  So 
it  has  been  ever^so  it  will  be  ever — to  the  end  of  the  history. 
I  have  studied  the  sex  in  vain  if  it  be  not  so! — and  how  to  prevent- 
all  this,  for  it  must  be  prevented !  The  Adelantado  must  persuade 
this  knight  to  continue  with  the  expedition.  He  must  win  him.  lie 
hath  the  charm  to  do  this,  when  he  is  persuaded  to  use  it ;  and  he 
must  use  it  now.  He  must  make  him  a  captain  of  twenties — nay, 
hundreds — but  he  must  bear  him  off;  and  meanwhile,  it  must  l>e 
for  me  to  encourage  him  with  a  promise  of  Olivia  on  his  return 
from  the  expedition.  To  gain  time  is  now  the  thing  essential. 
The  rest  may  be  left  to  the  thousand  casualties  of  such  an  adven 
ture  as  that  on  which  we  depart.  But  should  these  arts  fail ! 
should  the  persuasions  of  the  Adelantado  come  too  late — should 
the  pride  of  this  knight  of  Portugal  reject  our  overtures  with 
scorn,  as  perchance  he  may — should  my  promise  of  Olivia,  on 
his  return,  not  satisfy  him — as,  in  faith,  her  encouragement  hath 
been  sufficient  to  make  it  unsatisfactory — what  remains  ]  Verily, 
but  one  remedy  !  We  must  try  the  sharp  necessity  of  the  dag 
ger.  There  will  be  opportunities  enough,  I  trow.  It  must  either 
be  my  hand,  or  that  of  one  whose  soul  and  weapon  I  may  buy 
against  any  bosom  in  Cuba  !" 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  //a/.       have  then   sinned  apainst   his  experience,  and  IrangreMed  against  his  valor  , 
sod  my  tute  that  way  a  dangerous,  since  I  cannot  y«-t  find  it  in  my  la-art  t. 
Uere  he  comes.     I  pray  you  make  us  friends.     I  will  pursue  the  amity. " 

«  ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ELxns  WELL. 

WK  have  heard  the  cold  and  cruel  determination  of  Don  Bal- 
iha/ar  de  Alvaro.     We  may  be  assured  that  it   has  not   been 
spoken  idly,  or  with  a  mere  braggart  spirit,  and  that   his   ; 
lion  and  his  will  correspond  too  well,  to  make  him   pause,  when 
ever  it  shall  seem  necessary  to  carry  out  his    purpose-  in  art  ion. 
Fur  UK-  present,  his  conclusions  led  him  at  onoe  t.>    seek    an    in 
ten  icw  with  the  adelant&do.     As  he  expected.  In-  fimnd  1  - 
already  in  possession  of  the  rumor   touching  the  withdrawal    of 
Philip  de  \'aseoii>.-los  from  the  expedition. 

"  Is  this  report  true,  Don  Balthazar?"  demanded  the  a-lelanta- 
do,  who,  proud  as  he  was,  and  self-confident,  could  not  help 
showing  in  his  tone  and  manner  that  the  allair  seriously  dis- 
(juieted  him. 

M  It   is  not  improbable,  your  excellency  :  the  report  • 
through  several  persons  who  have  his  ear.     Nuno  de  Tobar  him 
self  assured   me  that  his  present  mood   inclined    him   to  foregp 
•.: -edition,  but  he  thought  that,  with  proper   eflorN    made, 
Don  Philip  might  be  persuaded  to  review  his  decision." 

"  And  am  I  to  stoop  to  solicit  this  Portuguese  knight  to  be  my 
companion  in  my  arms?"  was  the  imperious  demand  of  I  >, 

M  Nay  !"  interposed,  gently  but  earnestly,  the  more  sedate- 
spirit  of  his  wife,  the  Lady  Isabella — >k  nay,  my  Lord,  this  ja 
an  unreasonable  spirit  which  possesses  thee.  Don  Baltha/ar  i- 
surely  too  much  thy  friend  to  counsel  thee  to  any  dishonor,  or 
descent  from  thy  high  dignity.  He  means  not  that  thou  sh<m!d>t 
•ink  the  .spirit  of  the  noble  and  the  knight,  to  conciliate  an  ex- 

136 


136  VASCONSELOS. 

acting  spirit,  or  win  the  countenance  of  the  unworthy.  He  but 
counsels,  as  I  have  striven  to  do,  that  in  the  case  of  these  brave 
knights  of  Portugal,  whom  none  hold  to  be  less  than  honorable 
in  very  high  degree,  thou  shouldst  assume  a  different  bearing 
from  that  which  is  but  too  common  for  our  Spaniards  to  show 
to  these  gentlemen.  Verily,  I  say  myself,  they  have  been  quite 
too  much  slighted  in  this  adventure,  the  more  especially  when 
we  ivmember  the  claims  of  Don  Philip,  rrot  merely  as  a  brave 
warrior,  and  polished  gentleman,  but  on  account  of  the  special 
Dualities  which  he  possesses  from  a  former  sojourn  with  the 
Floridian  of  Apalachia.  And  where  is  the  shame  and  the  dis 
credit  to  thee  of  seeking  and  soliciting  this  noble  and  his  brother  \ 
Dost  thou  not  solicit  many, — many  who  are  far  less  worthy  ? 
What  is  all  thy  toil  here,  the  parade  which  we  daily  make,  the 
court  which  we  hold,  the  feasts  we  give,  the  pageants  and  tour 
neys  we  exhibit,  but  the  fruit  of  a  solicitude  which  seeks  men, 
and  money  and  horses, — and  all  that  is  deemed  needful  to  the 
success  and  glory  of  thy  enterprise  1  Of  a  truth,  my  Lord,  I 
see,  as  I  have  long  seen,  that  there  is  no  true  wisdom  in  looking 
coldly  on  these  brave  spirits,  who,  I  doubt  not,  will  be  most  happy 
of  thy  favor,  and  most  hearty  in  thy  cause." 

The  Adelantado  trode  the  floor  with  hasty  strides  while  his 
wife  was  speaking.  When  she  had  done,  he  spoke. 

"  I  see  not  what  ye  would  have.  I  gave  these  knights  all  the 
countenance  that  was  possible.  They  were  entreated  to  ourpres- 
eliee  ;  they  were  dealt  honorably  with  when  they  came.  I  could 
not  strip  command  from. other  of  my  followers,  born  Castilians, 
who  brought  with  them  their  own  retainers.  I  could  not  for  my 
own  dignity,  abridge  my  own  command,  that  they  should  find 
the  followers  whom  they  did  not  bring.  I  dared  not  give  them 
high  places  in  the  expedition,  knowing  well  the  jealousy  of  our 
people  towards  the  foreigners.  But,  I  trow,  all  this  complaint 
of  neglect  had  never  been,  Don  Balthazar,  had  it  not  been  for 
thy  niece.  It  is  the  passion  of  this  knight  for  the  Lady  Olivia, 
and,  perchance,  thy  hostility  to  his  object,  which  hath  marred  hi* 
purpose,  and  not  any  lack  of  my  favor.  He  had  gone,  as  so 


DON    HAI.TIIA/AIi's   TACTICS.  137 

many  do,  as  an  individual  adventurer,  a  single  lance  and  sword, 
but  for  his  pa-Mon  for  thy  niece  ;  ami  thou,  I  wot,  hath  put  thy 
baa  upon  his  alK-clion." 

'•  I  have  put  no  ban  upon  his  affections,  your  excellency,  nor 
upon  h.  PS,  He  Ifl  iV.  e  :  •  eome  and  go,  and  he  sees  my  niece 
when  hi-  will.  1  have  not  forbidden  him  ;  I  do  not  purpose  to 
forbid.  If  he  seeks  her  in  marriage,  and  she  allccls  him,  I  with- 
hol'i  :,t." 

"  Thou  ha-t  changed  in  thy  tv-olvr  since  we  last  spoke  of 
the-e  partie- I"1  said  Donna  Isabella. 

our  La.lv-liip.     I  hearkened  to  your  counsels,  and  re 
solved  in  enmpHanee  with  them.      But  it    K    perchance,  for   this 
very  reason  that  he  hath  declined  the  expedition.      Had  1  : 
his  pa^;t._r(.  to  ihc  Lady  Oli.i.i.  he  had  been  less  hoj.eful.      I  am 
fi-ee  to  say  that  1  believe  she  hath  lar^e  power  over  him." 

"  And  he  over  her."  ipioththe  Lady  Isabella,  "  or  the  woman's 
ey«  havi-  in  this  jrrcatlv  mistaken  the  n<nal  si^ns  of  the  woman's 
heart.11 

'*  Well !w  exclaimed   Ilernan  de  Soto,  breaking  in  with  impo- 
:!,  and   what   is  to  come  of  it?     Will  he  sink  into 
the  drudirr  upon  a  vineyard  ?      \\'ill  he  become  fruit-pn;: 
trie    haeii-nda    of  the    Lady   Olivia  do   Alvaro,  and    prepare   his 
monthly  accounts,  as   >te\vard  and  aiieiit.  for  tin-  e\.-.:iiination   of 
:•  Don   T.  Think'^t  thou   to  bring  him 

to  this  ?      Can  it    be  that    one   of  the  bravest    and   ln->l    lances  in 
Portugal— ay.  and  Spain — will  be  content  with  this  petty  employ 
in   life   while    "Teat    deeds   are  done   in    Florida — he   who,  but  a 
month  airo.  had  an  ambition  for  conquest,  and  a  pa— ion  lor 
pri-e.   equal    to   that   of  the    ni.xt   eager  adventurer  in    < 
Tlicn  is  knightl:  '    in   spirit   in  the  last  decade  ; 

and  on,   a-  he  reads  may  well  \vond, -\-  if  the  '  Hernan  de 

<  ordova   are   not    in  f-iith  a  pure  fable, — a  silly  invention  of  the 
Go  to,   Don    Baltha/ar,   v«»u    shall    not    per-uade    me  to 
''.his." 

"I  would  persuade  you  to  nothing,  your  ex* -ellency,  which  you 


138  VASCONSELOS. 

deem  hurtful  to  your  honor  or  your  interests,  or  which  you  fina 
displeasing  to  your  moods.  You  hear  what  is  reported  as  coin 
ing  from  Don  Philip  himself.  1  believe  the  rumor,  and  think 
that  he  hath  so  expressed  himself.  It  is  for  you  to  say  whether 
the  loss  of  this  knight, — perchance  his  younger  brother  also, — be 
such  loss  as  you  can  suffer  without  grievance." 

"  Of  a  truth,  not !  we  want  every  man  whom  we  can  get,  and 
every  brave  knight  in  especial, — particularly  one  who  brings  with 
him  such  manifold  resources  as  Philip  de  Vasconselos." 

"  This  being  the  case,  your  excellency,  it  may  be  well  to  ask 
in  what  way,  without  derogal'  u  from  your  high  dignity,  to  per 
suade  him  to  the  adventure.  I  have  shown  you  wherefore .  1 
think  he  hath  resolved  to  quit  your  banner; — the  neglect  of 
favor  • — the  jealousy  of  our  Spaniards,  and  the  passion  which  he 
hath  for  my  niece." 

"  When  thou  sawest  these  things,  and  that  the  hope  of  thy 
niece  was  that  which  made  him  hostile  to  the  expedition,  why 
then  didst  thou  give  encouragement  to  this  puling  passion  for  the 
damsel  1" 

"Nay,  my  lord,  thou  an  ;ii:ain  unreasonable,"  interposed 
Donna  Isabella.  "  If  there  be  offence  in  that,  the  guilt  of  it  lies 
at  thy  door  and  mine.  Don  Balthazar,  as  thou  wilt  recall,  de 
clared  himself  in  opposition  to  the  suit  of  the  knight  of  Portugal, 
giving,  as  reason  for  it,  the  very  peril  which  we  now  fear,  that  he 
would  abandon  the  expedition  if  successful  with  the  lady.  Was 
it  not  so,  Don  Balthazar  ?" 

Don  Balthazar  bowed  assent,  and  then  proceeded  in  reply  to 
De  Soto. 

"  I  gave  no  encouragement,  your  excellency,  to  this  passion. 
In  truth,  for  many  reasons  I  was  greatly  hostile  to  it.  The  calm, 
and,  as  seemed  to  me,  as  I  trow  it  did  to  you,  the  insolent  pride 
of  this  knight's  bearing  was  rarely  inconsistent  with  his  poverty 
of  position  and  resource,  and  I  felt  a  pride  of  nation  which  re 
volted  to  think  that  the  large  possessions  of  my  niece  should  fall 
into  the  clutch  of  a  beggarly  and  grasping  stranger.  I  had 


A   D1FFKKKNCK    OF    OPINION.  139 

am  (her  suitor  for  her — one  Don  Augustin  do  Sinolar,  a 
worthy  gentleman.  an<l   a   handsome,  whose   estates  lie  adjoining 
"f  m\   niece  at  the  hacienda  Mutclos." 

••  And  did>t  thou  really  seek  to  match  thy  niece  with  that  thing 
of  silk  and  straw,  I  )e  Sinolar  ?  Fie  upon  thee,  Don  Baltha/ar — • 
tie  ij.on  thee.  for  designing  :i  most  unworthy  sacrifice." 

Tin'  t'ace  of  Don  Balthaxar  Hushed  to  the  temples,  as  he  listeneo 
to  tin.1  rebuke  of  the  Ladv  Isabella,  and  felt  the  sharp  indignant 
glance  of  her  eye  upon  him.  But  he  had  his  reply. 

••  He  is  rich,  lady,  and  hath  a  good  exterior.  He  hath  the 
vanities  of  youth,  perchance;  I  deny  it  not;  but  he  hath  few  of 
the  vices  of  youth.  He  hath  meekness,  and  gentleness,  and  sim 
plicity,  and " 

••  <  )h  !  hush  thee,  Don  Balthazar;  as  if  the  qualities  of  a  chicken 
or  a  hare  were  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  heart  of  a  woman.  Fie 
upon  thee.1' 

;  Briefly,"  interposed  De  Soto,  "she  rejecN  your  favorite 
!  }  ^inolar,  and  must  have  your  knight  of  Portugal." 

"My  choice  wa<  not  hers,  and,  though  the  Lady  Isabella  re- 
bukc-  me.  I  mii-t  -ay  I  am  <orry  for  it.  Olivia  had  been  in.ich 
happier.  I  trow,  with  De  Sinolar,  than  she  ever  could  hope  to  he 
with  Philip  de  Yaseonst.dos." 

"And  why  not,  I  pray  you  .'"  attain  spoke  th  i!>ella. 

*hi»win<:  a  feminine  tenacity  <>n  a  subject  which  so  naturally  inter- 
"xted  the  pride  and  temper  of  tin- 

"  Nay.  it  does  not  matter  to  our  present  quc-t."  said  IV 
'The  ([notion  is.  does  -he  resolve  to  wed  the   Portuguese?11 

"She  prefer*  him.  beyond  all  que-tion.  hut  that  she  will  wed 
with  him  is  still  -as  who  can  answer  for  tin-  oaprioea  «»f  the 
S(.x  ?'' — and  \\\\>  with  a  sly  alanoe  at  the  Lady  NabelU — 

till  a  verv  questi-  uiablc  mat  | 

ka  her,  there  is  an  end  "I 

the  -l-iibt.  ">  0\  do  not  bar  the  [.I-OLMV--.  and  imne  .lenies.  She 
will  wed  with  him,  1  >ee,  and  he  is  lost  to  the  expedition — a  loaa 
greater  than  fifty  raatchlo 


140  VASCONSELOS. 

De  Soto  strode  the  apartment  with  a  vexation  which  he  did 
not  labor  to  conceal.  Now,  that  tin-  loss  of  the  knight  seemed 
to  be  certain,  he  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  his  conviction  of  his 
value.  The  tfuth  is  that,  as  Don  Balthazar  had  indicated  ahva.lv, 
the  pride  in  the  bearing  of  Don  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  and  tin- 
stately  reserve  which  he  maintained  to  the  Castilian  leaders.  De 
Soto  among  them,  had  touched  the  self-esteem  of  the  latter. 
Yet  this  conduct  of  the  Portuguese  was  not  properly  a  cause  of 
wonder  or  complaint,  when  it  was  remembered  with  what  oj.rn 
jealousy  he  was  regarded  by  the  Spaniards.  Don  Balthazar 
watched  his  superior  with  keen  eyes,  but  a  calm,  unspeaking 
countenance.  After  a  brief  pause,  he  spoke  as  follows : 

"  Nay,  your  Excellency,  it  does  not  seem  so  necessary  that  the 
Knight  should  be  lost  to  the  expedition,  even  should  he  wed  with 
my  niece.  He  may  be  persuaded  to  follow  it  after  he  hath  wed- 
ded " 

"  Better  before !"  said  the  Lady  Isabella  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  I  grant  you,  better  before;  and,  whatever  attempts  we 
make  upon  him  should  be  seasonably  tried ;  but,  failing  to  pre 
vent  his  bridal — which,  I  repeat,  is  by  no  means  an  assured  thing 
— then  we  may  negotiate  that  he  follow  thee  when  the  honey-moon 
is  over.  Thou  wilt  suffer  one  or  more  small  caravels  to  remain 
from  thy  fleet,  wherewith  to  bring  stores  after  thee,  and  the  si«-k 
soldiers,  and  in  one  of  these  he  may  easily  depart  with  others. 
Thou  wilt  hardly  feel  his  loss  ere  he  is  with  thee.  Thou  wilt 
consume  several  weeks  in  thy  progress  along,  and  thy  descent 
upon  the  coast — in  the  unloading  of  thy  caravels,  the  landing  of 
the  horses,  hogs  and  cattlp,  and  in  other  needful  preparations 
When  thou  art  ready  tc  penetrate  the  country  of  the  Aj.alaehi- 
an,  he  will,  if  we  use  the  proper  means  of  persuasion,  be  with 
thee  in  season." 

"  And  these  means  of  persuasion.  Sant'  lago  !  Shall  I  go  to 
this  Knight  of  Portugal,  and  bend  myself  l>ef!>re  him,  and  sav, 
'Sir  Knight,  wilt  thou  honor  thy  servant  by  taking  thy  part  in 
this  expedition?'" 


THE    EMISSARY.  141 

"Nav,  nay,  my  lord "  began  tht-  lady,  but  the  Advlantado 

waved  his  hand  impatiently,   lcx>king   to    Balthazar.     The    1.-, 
did  not  delay  his  answer  : — 

"  Will  your  Excellency  leave  this  matter  wholly  to    n  ' 

will  use  what  proper  arguments  I  may.  I  will  in  no  respect  com 
mit  thy  pride  or  honor.  I  will  promise  office,  and  the  command 
of  n  troop,  yet  in  no  way  conflict  with  thy  engagements." 

"  How  wilt  thou  do  this  7" 

"  Nay,  will  it  not  suffice  that  it  shall  be  done]" 

"In  God's  name,  do  it;  I  shall  say  no  more.  Thou  wilt  re 
lieve  me  of  an  embarrassment;  and  if  thou  succecd'st  with  this 
churlish  cavalier,  will  do  help  to  the  enterprise,  as  none  better 
knows  than  thou  !  Away,  Don  Balthazar,  and  let  the  grass  not 
grow  beneath  thy  feet.  To-morrow  thou  knowest  the  tournament 
Sna,  and  there  is  much  work  for  thee  here  as  elsewhere.  To 
thy  papers,  my  secretary — my  soul,  rather!'' 

And  with  this  superb  compliment,  the  stately  Don  turned  to 
his  wife,  and  proceeded  to  dictate  a*  >he  wrote.  Don  Bal 
thazar,  having  carte  blanche,  made  his  bow  and  took  his  departure. 
He  lost  no  time  in  visiting  Philip  dc  Vasconselo*.  The  office 
was  one  which  the  uncle  of  Olivia  would  have  cheerfully  dep 
to  another;  but  this  was  impossible  ;  and  he  proe.  <>rd 

ingly  to  the  work  before  him,  with  the  promptitude  of  01 
\\hom  the  duty  is  apparent.  His  hope  lay  in  the  temptation 
which  he  would  hold  forth  to  the  ambition  of  the  adventurer. 
Having  himself  little  faith  in  the  affection*  as  sufficiently  compen 
sative  to  man,  he  persuaded  himself  that  the  aim  of  Philip  <le 
Vasconselos  was  the  fortune  of  hi*  ward.  If  he  could  hold  forth 
a  sufficient  lure  of  the  *ame-charaeter  through  another  medium, 
he  flattered  himself  that  lie  >diould  be  siieeesvful.  N.uii'  doubted 
that  Florida  and  the  mountains  of  Apalaehia  concealed  tiva-sires 
in  gold  and  ^ilver.  i:-  MIS  and  precious  >toiie*,  equal  to  aii\  in  the 

;  iiiu  of  Peru.       He  knew  that   this  faith  w,i 

by  the  PortiiLTUes.-  whohadl.een  on.-  ..fthe  e\p|..ivi^  of  thai 
oomitry  with  the  Ca\alier  •  :e  \'aca.  All  that  -cemed 

l,  therefore,  to  be^uilin^   lum   to   the   -  -.-,  fc> 


i2  VASCONSELOS. 

mollify  his  pride,  and  secure  him  the  means  of  going  thither  i  a 
style  which  should  maintain  his  dignity  and  affoid  him  an  ado 
quate  command.  For  this  money  was  necessary,  and  De  So.o 
had  none  to  spare.  The  resolution  which  Don  Balthazar  had 
formed,  vas  to  use  the  means  afforded  him  by  the  large  income 
from  the  estate  of  his  niece,  of  which  he  had  complete  control. 
To  employ  the  wealth  of  Olivia  in  ridding  her  of  two  dangerous 
lovers,  seemed  to  him  a  perfectly  legitimate  measure ;  though, 
in  respect  to  the  propriety  of  the  proceeding,  he  never  allowed 
himself  to  doubt  for  a  moment.  Thus  prepared  with  his  gen 
eral  plan  of  action,  he  entered  the  humble  dwelling  of  the  Knight 
of  Portugal. 

Philip  de  Vasconselos  beheld  the  approach  of  the  unusual  vis 
itor  without  surprise.  He  had,  in  fact,  anticipated  the  unwonted 
courtesy,  and  we  may  add,  had  partly  designed  it  should  be  so, 
when  he  instructed  his  friends  to  declare  aloud  his  determination. 
He  knew  quite  as  well  as  any  other  person,  how  necessary  he 
was  to  the  purposes  of  De  Soto.  The  appearance  of  Don  Bal 
thazar  seemed  to  assure  him  also  of  the  conviction  felt  by  the 
latter  that  his  niece  would  favor  the  suit  of  the  Portuguese.  The 
instincts  of  Philip  de  Vasconselos  on  this  subject  had  been 
strengthened  by  the  positive  reports  of  Nuno  de  Tobar.  They 
were  confirmed  by  the  visit  of  the  uncle.  His  hands  were  ac 
cordingly  strengthened.  He  was  prepared  for  the  interview. 
Though  yet  a  young  man,  hardly  more  than  thirty,  he  had  been 
a  soldier ;  had  travelled  much  ;  mingled  much  with  men ;  en 
dured  those  vicissitudes  which  strengthen  patience,  teach  coolness, 
and  give  insight ;  and  with  a  mind  naturally  acute,  and  a  judg 
ment  well  balanced  and  secure,  he  was  more  than  a  mateh  foi 
men  of  greater  age.  and  as  much  experience.  lie  was  a  politician 
over  whom  the  habitual  cunning  of  Don  Baltha/ar  could  obtain 
no  ad  vantage.  It  was  a  curious  study  to  watch  the  interview 
between  tli"  parties— to  behold  the  Castilian  Don  doubling  like  a 
fox  through  all  the  avenues  of  his  art;  to  see  him  circling  around 
his  object,  without  approaching  it ;  to  note  how  warily  he  kept, 
in  regard  to  his  secret  fears,  while  holding  forth  his  nipst  beguil- 


DIAMOND   CUT   DIAMOND.  143 

ing  lures;— in  particular  t.>  note  how  sweetly  he  could  insinuate 
his  flatteries  of  the  man  he  hated  in  his  soul,  and  had  already  re- 
-  ed,  simpler  remedies  having  failed  him,  to  treat  with  sharp 
medicine  at  the  point  of  his  dagger.  He  tried  the  pulse  of  Phil 
ip's  vanity  and  ambition  with  most  laborious  art,  and  a  skill  of 
practice  which  had  BUOoeeded  with  ninety-nine  in  the  hundred  of 
the  young  men  of  the  time.  But  he  tried  in  vain. 

^  et  Philip  de  Vasconselos  gave  him  no  direct  denial.  The 
\  oung  man  opposed  art  to  art.  He  showed  himself  highly  grati 
fied  with  the  prai^.  of  the  other.  He  made  no  effort  to  dis 
guise  the  ambition  which  he  really  felt,  and  suffered  the  old 
politician  to  believe  that  all  his  flatteries  had  made  their  way  to 
his  heart.  He  was  never  more  frank  and  cordial  in  his  life'.  He 
spoke  to  Don  Baltha/ar  as  to  the  undo  of  Olivia,  and  in  the  strain 
of  one  who  regarded  him  as  in  no  idverse  to  the  free 

course  of  her  atK ciions.  He  did  not  say  to  him,  "I  love  your 
niece,"— he  did  not  even  speak  of  her;  yet  he  so  shaped  his 
i  confidential  friend,  and  so  governed  tone  and  coun- 
tcnanee  equally  as  to  indicate  to  the  other  the  utter  absence  from 
his  thouirhts  of  any  doubt  that  he,  Don  Balthazar,  could  be  other 
than  friendly  to  himself  and  objects.  The  confidence  and  ease 
with  which  he  gave  himself  out^apparently— just  forebore the  look 
jf  M  !feomplaisance,and  expressed  the  sense  and  spirit  of  a  man 
•vho  felt  that  his  chances  with  fortune  were  quite  even,  or  at  least 
looked  so  fair,  as  would  render  any  reluctance  to  press  them,  a 
0  dastardly  for  the  toleration  of  any  brave  man. 
In  the  end,  all  that  Don  Baltha/ar  could  obtain  from  the  young 
knight  was  a  promise  to  consider  his  proffers — to  deliberate 
hone.fly  upon  them,— and  HMota  seasonably,  giving  his  final 
answer  before  tin  departure  of  the  fleet 

"Demonios!"  muttered  the  (  •  t.tilian  to  himself,  when  he  had 
fake,,  hi*  departure:  "ThU  dog  of  a  Moor  thinks  he  already  hath 
(he  rabbit  in  a  sack.      But  he  shall  lose  hi.  own  >kin  ere  he  ! 
it  is  clear  that  be  Inpat  for  Olivia's  OOOMOt      Now  will  it  del 
on  her  whether  he  tastes  my  dagger  or  not.     If  her  virtue— Ha  ! 
ha  '  virtue  !— if  her  virtue  boUsovl  to  refusal  of  his  hand,  why 


144  VASCONSELOS 

let  the  dog  drift  where  the  seas  may  carry  him  !  but  if,  as  I  fear, 
her  passion  for  him  proves  too  strong  for  her  magnanimity,  he 
must  die !  So  be  it !  He  shall  never  live  to  be  her  master-  -or 
mine!" 

He  returned  with  all  diligence  to  the  presence  of  the  Adelan- 
tado,  whom  he  found  in  the  most  joyous  mood.  The  change  of 
a  couple  of  hours  had  effected  wonders.  When  he  left  his  pres 
ence  De  Soto  was  angry  and  sullen.  Now  his  mirth  was  abso 
lutely  boisterous.  In  this  merriment,  though  more  temperately , 
Donna  Isabella  shared.  Don  Balthazar  looked  on  with  wonder, 
and  several  times  vainly  essayed  to  speak.  He  was  always 
overborne  by  the  laughter  of  his  superior. 

"  Tell  me  nothing  yet,"  cried  De  Soto,  at  an  interval  in  his 
bursts  of  mirth, — "  Nothing  that  shall  qualify  my  pleasure.  II a ! 
ha !  ha !  wait,  good  Don  Balthazar,  till  I  can  recover  breath,  when 
you  shall  hoar,  and  then,  if  it  be  not  wholly  against  your  princi 
ple,  you  shall  laugh  too." 

"  Ay,  ay,  your  excellency,  as  Sancho  counsels,  *  Let  not  thy 
secret  rot  in  thy  keeping  ! ' " 

"  Ere  long  it  will  be  no  secret.  The  story  is  too  good  to  bo 
kept  from  air.  It  must  be  sent  abroad,  and  no  doubt  will  gain 
addition  as  it  goes.  Thus,  then,  there  were  some  barques  that 
put  into  port,  as  thou  knowest,  from  stress  of  weather  yesterday. 
One  of  them  had  sprung  aleak,  and  needed  repair.  On  board  of 
this  vessel  came  Hernan  Ponce,  an  old  comrade  of  mine  in  Peru. 
We  were  dear  friends  in  Peru,  and  we  made  a  brotherhood  be* 
tween  us,  which  is,  as  thou  knowest,  a  copartnership  i«»r  common 
interests  and  profits,  to  last  through  life.  We  were  thus  to  share 
our  gains  and  losses  equally,  our  honors  as  our  profits." 

"  Ah!  and  he  now  comes  to  claim  of  thee  the  half  of  tin 
here,  and  thy  command  in  the  expedition  ?" 

t:  Nothing  half  so  good,  Don  Balthazar.  He  claims  nothing  at 
my  hands,  but  his  aim  is  to  escape  from  claims  of  mine.  Thou 
must  know,  then,  that  Hernan  Ponce  hath  made  great  profits  in 
Peru,  and  with  immense  wealth  of  p>l<l  ami  silver,  jewels  and 
precious  stones,  he  hath  embarked  at  Nombrn  de  Dios  for 


TUK  TKKASUKK. 

It   Ls    greatly  against  his  will  that  he  hath  put  into  Havana,     So 
great  was  h:s  fear  of  my  domain  Is  that  he  made  great  offers  to  the 
Captain  of  the  barque,  Diego  de  Miruelos,  who  was  an  old  ibl 
lower  of  mine,  if  he  would  steer  wide  of  Havana  though  he  should 
peril   the  Chip's  safety  in  doing  so.     But  Diego,  who  has  a  keen 

.t  for  a  rogue's  secret,  and  who  knew  the  danger  of  his  vc 
not  to  be  overborne.     So  here  he  is ;  and  yesterday  he  ad- 

•  1  me,  by  secret  message,  of  him  he  hath  on  board.  Where 
upon  1  Miit  a  most  courteous  di>patch  to  Ilernan  Ponce,  to  com 
pliment  and  congratulate  him  on  his  arrival,  and  to  entreat  him  to 
come  on  shore,  and  in  regard  to  our  brotherhood,  to  share  my 
dwelling,  my  conOand,  and  the  honors  and  profits  of  my  expedi 
tion." 

\h!   well— he  hath  complied  ?" 

"No!  no!  Th  •mething  of  the  fox  in  Ilernan   Ponce, 

it  appears,  who  showed   himself  a  true  comrade   only  when  h«« 

a  poor  adventurer.      Now,  that  he  hath  gmwn   r'ch,  the  na 

ture  changes.      He  e.vu-ed  himself  from   coming   a>h«»iv  \e-ter- 

day.  pleading  fatigue  ;    but  he  is  to  visit   me  to-day.      Meanwhile, 

DiegO  _..      :ae  to  understand  that    Ilernan   he.  .MHI- 

nieation  with   the  shore,  and  counselled    me  to  set  eves   abr  -ad, 

sueh  as  might  see  dearly  amid  tin-  darkness.      Whereupon,  1  did 

so,   until    every  inlet   and    landing-place    v,  :-,.,l    with    my 

foot*,     It  was  a  wi-e  precaution.      Look  at  the  fruits  of  it." 

ing  a  curtain,  IX,  Soto   showed  to  h; 

.  iy    roller-,  in  which,  the    lids    being    remove.!,  could  be  Wen 
I  of  gold,  and    peark   and    preciou>   itOQea,  heaped  to   full. 
MM, 

"rrh-      .  •iim.'d   I)t-  Sol.  ht.  to 

be  hidden  -omcwhnv.      l^ut.  even  a>  th«-y  \\viv  landed.  : 
set  upon  the  mariners,  .li-per-.-d  th.-m.  leiied  u;>ou  tin-  • 
and    it  i>  h.-rc.      I  K-arn    from   Dirgo  that    Ilernan   k-pt 
on  board    but  his  ooffen  of  silver.      The^e.  if  pre-^ed.  he  VTM  t«» 
share  with   me   in  compliance  with   our  artii-h-s  o     bro'l, 
Have  I  not  reason  for  merriment,  think  you  ?     Ha  .  ha!  ha!  how 
will  he  stare  when  he  beholds  them  !" 
1 


VASCONSELO3. 

u  Wilt  thou  show  them  ?" 

"  Eh !  why  not  ?  He  shall  see — the  sordid  runagate,  that  I 
know  him  !  I  will  shame  him  with  my  discovery.'5 

"  Which  is  clearly  forfeit." 

"  Nay,  the  dog.-  1  will  not  keep  his  treasure  from  him.  !  vrlll 
spit  upon  it,  and  force  his  sLaine  upon  him." 

"  It  is  a  gift  of  fortune.  Thou  wilt  need  it  all,  Don  Her 
nan." 

"Nay,  teach  Lot  that,"  interposed  Donna  Isabella;  "rather 
let  it  go,  lest  we  be  haunted  by  the  prayers  of  hate  and  avarice. 
My  lord  will,  I  trust,  need  none  of  the  treasure  which  is  yielded 
grudgingly.  I  would  not  have  his  honor  reproached  by  scan 
dal." 

"  But  it  is  his  right,  Senora." 

"Yes !  but  one  may  well  forego  a  right  when  there  would  be 
feeling  of  shame,  and  not  pride,  in  its  assertion.  letter  let  my 
lord  do  as  he  nobly  resolves,— spit  upon  the  treasure,  and  so 
upon  the  baseness  of  the  owner. 

It  was  probably  the  advice  of  the  lady  that  led  I  >»•  onto  to  his 
determination.  He  was  rather  inclined  to  grasp  at  treasure  from 
whatever  source,  and  his  reputation  is  not  above  tin-  reproach  of 
an  unbecoming  avarice.  While  they  were  yet  speaking,  the 
attendants  announced  the  approach  of  llernan  Ponee,  upon 
which  Don  Balthazar  said. — 

"My  need  requires  me  elsewhere.  I  will  not  stay  to  see  thy 
treatment  of  this  partner  of  thine,  particularly,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
thou  dost  unwisely  in  restoring  him  his  treasure.  Better  werl 
thou  to  help  thyself,  and  punish  him  thus.  It  were  the  most 
eiVeetual  manner  for  teaching  him  his  basene->.  lie  would  then 
surely  feel  it.  Such  a  wret.-h  will  go  on"  exulting,  even  though 
thy  spittle  should  somewhat  stain  his  pearls." 

"  What  of  the  knight  of  Portugal  ]  Dost  thou  make  any  thing 
of  him?" 

"  He  speaks  fairly,  but  does  not  yet  decide.  He  will  deliber 
ate  upon  my  counsel  and  proposals.'' 

"Ah!  he  will  deliberate.     A  curse  upon  the  insolence  of  the 


HKKNAN    POXCK.  147 

Moor — for  all  these  Portuguese  are  of  mixed  blood,  I  think  ! — 
ne  will  deliberate  whether  lie  will  serve  in  ranks  of  honor — in 
;  vi.  e  of  a  Castilian  knight.  1  would  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  Apalachia.  or  that  I  had  those  about  me  who  knew  half  so 
much,  then  should  he  nevt.r  set  foot  in  this  enterprise,  which  is 

ivat  a  glory  for  such  as  he.' 
"  Ah !  my  lord,  thou  dost  this  young  Knight  a  great  wrong,  I 

-aid  the  iady. 

"Break  oil,"  said  Don  Balthazar — "here  comes  your  wealthy 
brother  in  arms  and  fortune.  A  Dios,  your  excellency.  Se 
flora,  I  kiss  your  hands.'5 

••  !.•  t  down  the  curtain  upon  the  coffers,"  said  De  Soto  hastily, 
as  the  footsteps   sounded  at  the  door  without.      In  the    next   mo- 
nieiit,  the  unhappy  Ilernan    Ponce  was    u-heivd    into    the  apart 
ment.      He  had  been  apprised  of  the  miscarriage  of  his  treasure, 
j.ceted   into  whoM-  hands  it  had  ialleii — and,  in  his  loss.  |u- 
\vas  taught  to  see  his  own  bareness.      Hjs  looks  showed  what  he 
feared  and  felt.     But  in  those  of  the  Adelantado   and   his   noble 
lady  he    saw  nothing   but  cheering  smiles,  and  a  frank  welcome. 
;  him  as  an  old  friend,  and  betrayed  no  suspicion, 
and  expressed  no  unkindm  — .      U'   :    -  >!\ed  to  say  nothing  about 
.Mured   treasure   until    Ponce  should   speak.     .For  a  long 
time  ;t,  ilking  about  wholly  indifferent  subjects. 

But  where  the  treasure  i-.  tin-re  will  the  heart  be  also, — and  out 
of  the   fullness  of  the    heart  will    the    mouth  be  forced  to  speak. 
The  luckless  adventurer,  at  length,  delivered  himself  of  hi- 
and  told  the  story  of  his  mi-fortunes.     The  Adelantado  had  been 
waiting  for  this  opport unity." 

"What!    Ilernan    P.>n,  -.-.  hadst    thou    then   such  a  treasure  as 
thou  di->cribest.  and  would-t  thou  have  hidden  it  from  me?     Was 
I  not  to  share  with  thee  in  thy  prosperity,  even  as  I  had   -hared 
with  thee  in   thy  adver-if  \   !      Lu!   now  the   dill' 
us.     Behold   these,  artid.  d,  signed,  and  under 

seal,  in  which,  a-  tho  .d  that  I  h  -,ded  in  my  pre 

sent  expedition,  all  the  -hips  and  m'uiitions,  the  arms,  the  horses, 
the   men  and   money  ;  all  tho  titles,  commands,  and  privilege* 


148  VASCONSELOS. 

which  I  have  obtained  from  the  crown,  I  have  set  down  and 
devised  for  our  equal  benefit,  and  made  thy  half  secure  to  thee, 
according  to  the  articles  of  fraternity  and  copartnership  between 
us.  Read  the  writings  for  thyself.  See  the  names  of  the  wit 
nesses.  Hast  thou  cause  of  complaint  ?  Wilt  thou  say  that  I 
have  not,  in  all  things,  fulfilled  my  part  of  the  contract  of  bro 
therhood  ?  " 

Hernan  Ponce  read,  and  humbled  himself.  He  admitted  the 
justice  with  which  De  Soto  had  proceeded,  anri  confessed  that 
he  had  been  unworthy  of  such  a  brother. 

"  It  is  not  too  late  to  atone,  Hernan  Ponce.  The  way  is  open 
to  thee  still.  If  thou  art  pleased  to  share  the  expedition  with 
me,  my  titles  and  commands,  my  stores  and  possessions,  I  will 
yield  thee  such  as  thou  may'st  prefer.  The  one  half  of  all  shall 
be  thine  ;  the  one  half  of  the  conquest  and  the  treasures  we  may 
win." 

The  humiliation  of  Hernan  Ponce  increased,  under  the  noble 
treatment  of  his  old  companion  in  arms,  but  he  said  mourn 
fully— 

u  It  is  vain  now,  since,  except  the  silver  which  is  on  board  the 
vessel,  I  have  no  treasure  of  value  left.  It  would  be  a  shame  and 
a  wrong  to  accept  the  half  of  thine,  when  I  held  back  thy  proper 
share  of  what  was  mine." 

"  Nay,  Ilernan  Ponce,  it  is  not  so  evil  with  thee  yet.  Thy 
treasures  hath  fallen  into  friendly  hands.  Look,  Senor,  not  a 
pearl  is  missing  from  thy  coffers." 

As  he  spoke,  Donna  Isabella  raised  the  curtain,  and  the  greedy 
miser  gasped  with  joyous  wonder,  as  he  eagerly  lifted  the  cover 
from  the  coffers,  and  saw  that  his  gold  and  jewels  remained  un 
touched." 

But  this  eplf.oae  need  not  detain  us  longer.  The  history  is 
briefly  told  by  the  chronicler.  Ilernan  Ponce  had  no  ambition 
for  conquest.  lie  wa-  content  with  the  treasures  in  possession. 
Now  that  his  gra>p  was  on<-c  more  upon  his  coffers,  he  was  for 
incurring  no  further  rUks.  The  Spanish  equivalent  for  our 
English — "  bird  in  the  hand  " — was  tripping  busily  in  his  brain. 


THE    PA  HTML li.SU  II'    DISSOLVED.  149 

The  honors  proposed  to  him  seemed  to  be  rather  too  expensive. 
IK-  had  just  loft  the  land  of  savages  and  strife,  and  he  had  no 
rva-ion  to  suppose  that  the  Apalachians  were  like  to  prove  more 
genial  companions  than  those  of  Panama.  He  expressed  himself 
very  grateful  to  his  brother  in  arms,  the  noble  Adelantado,  but 
re-ally  he  could  not  think  of  depriving  him  of  any  share  of  his 
well-won  homors — any  of  the  results  likely  to  accrue  from  his 
well-grounded  hopes  of  conquest.  For  his  own  part,  he  needed 
change  of  air  from  the  new  world  to  the  old.  His  health  required 
it,  and  his  treasures.  He  longed  to  air  his  pearls  in  the  atmo 
sphere  of  Seville;  he  thought  his  ingots  would  be  improved  by 
the  coinage  of  his  majesty.  Tie  was  curious  to  look  at  the  ope 
rations  of  the  mint.  And  there  were  many  other  reasons  equally 
strong  and  good.  We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  urged  all 
th'-se  aloud.  They  were  the  unspoken  arguments  of  his  secret 
soul.  De  Soto  listened  with  contempt.  Glad  to  get  back  his 
trea-mv-.  and  perhaps  feeling  some  compunctions  of  conscience, 
Ilernan  Ponce  presented  to  the  Lady  Isabella  ten  thousand  dol- 
lar>  in  gold,  which  he  entreated  her  graciously  to  accept.  Had 
the  story  ceased  here,  we  might  have  suffered  Hernan  Ponce  to 
depart,  with  the  reputation  of  being  less  base  and  unworthy  than 
he  originally  appeared.  But  there  is  another  scene  in  the  drama 
which,  though  occurring  afterwards,  may  very  well  be  given  in 
thi>  place.  His  mi>er  soul  repented  of  this  liberality,  and  wait 
ing  until  De  Soto  had  sailed  for  Florida,  he  brought  suit  to  re- 
or  the  ten  thousand  dollars  from  the  Lady  Isabella.  But 
this  brave  woman,  to  whom  he  really  owed  the  restoration  of 
all  his  treasure,  was  not  to  be  outwitted  or  alarmed.  She  re 
plied  quietly  that  there  was  a  long  account  between  her  husband 
and  the  plaintiff,  as  might  be  B6CO  in  th.  artirlr.  ,,f  copartnership ; 
t Kit  the  latter  owed  De  Soto  more  than  fifty  thousand  du  • 
being  half  of  the  outfit  fur  the  exp.-dition  ;  ami  corn-hided  by  de 
manding  the  arrest  of  the  debtor,  and  hi>  detention  until  the  j 
ment  should  be  given  on  th-  fafe  11  rnan  Pone,-  g,,t  wind  ,,f 
this  replication  in  due  season,  and  without  waiting  th«-  return 
of  his  ten  thousand  dollars,  put  out  to  sea,  with  hi>  bird* 


150  VASCONSELOS. 

in  hand,  and  leaving  those  in  the  bush  to  fly  whither  they  thought 
proper.  They  had  already  taken  wing  with  a  hundred  thousand 
more  for  the  forests  of  the  Apalachian.  But  we  must  not  antici 
pate. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

**  Weep  not  at  thine  own  words,  tho1  they  must  make 
Me  weep."  SIIKLLEY. 

"  What  cruel  sufferings,  more  than  she  has  known. 
Canst  thou  innict  ?  "  ll> 

THE  household  of  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro  maintained  its  ar- 
customed  serenity  to  the  world  without.  Its  order  had  under- 
gone  no  apparent  disturbance  since  the  death  of  old  Anita,  and 
Sylvia,  her  mesti/o  successor,  seemed  to  fall  as  naturally  into 
her  habits,  as  if  she  had  been  trained  directly  under  them.  No 
doubt  the  stern  discipline  of  her  master  had  tutored  her  to  im 
plicit  obedience,  while  his  precaution  had  left  nothing  doubtful 
in  the  directions  which  he  gave  her  for  her  government  during 
his  absence.  But  we  may  mention  here,  that  the  girl  Juana,  if 
not  refractory,  was  inattentive,  and  the  old  hag  who  now  super 
intended  the  household  had  occasion  to  notice  her  frequent  and 
prolonged  absences,  for  which  the  girl,  on  her  return,  was  unwill 
ing,  or  unable  to  account.  Once  or  twice  during  the  progress  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours,  had  Sylvia  felt  it  incumbent  on  her  to 
administer  an  expn  — ive  cuff  or  two  to  the  cheeks  of  the  sullen 
servant,  winding  up  these  salutary  admonitions  with  threats  of  more 
potent  handling,  and  a  final  appeal  to  Don  Baltha/.ar.  Hut  blows 
and  threats  did  not  much  mend  the  matter.  They  only  increased 
the  dogged  obstinacy  and  sullenness  of  the  girl;  who,  however,  did 
not  spare  her  young  mUtn  •—  the  n-eital  of  her  cruel  wrongs.  She 
concluded  always,  howVYCT,  with  a  si-nit'icant  and  monitory  shaking 
of  the  head,  winding  up  with  the  repeated  assurance  of  redress,  both 
for  herself  and  mistreat 

Olivia  did  not  much  heed  the-.-  a --u  ranees,  and  li-teiu-d,  sim 
ply,  in  that  mood  of  listlessness,  which  had  followed  her  despair 
ing,  determination  not  to  wed  with  Philip  de  Vasconselos.  She 

JM 


152  VASCOXSELOS. 

abandoned  herself  to  this  feeling,  and  its  external  exhibition  was 
apathy.  Still,  she  somewhat  wondered  that  she  did  not  see  her 
lover — that  he  did  not  make  his  appearance,  as  her  uncle  feared, 
as  her  friend  Leonora  de  Tobar  had  asserted  he  would  appear, 
and  as  she  felt  it  criminal  to  hope.  A  morning  visit  from  Leo 
nora,  the  thoughtless,  the  joyous,  upon  whom  neither  shame  nor 
scr-ovr  seemed  to  sit  long,  gave  her  all  the  little  tattle  of  the 
town ;  and  she  ran  on,  with  tongue  at  random,  discoursing  of  a 
thousand  matters  in  which  Olivia  took  no  interest.  It  was  only 
when  Philip  de  Vasconselos  became  the  subject,  that  the  visitor 
found  an  expression  of  eagerness  and  concern  in  the  eyes  of  her 
suffering  hostess. 

"  It  is  certain  that  he  loves  you  to  distraction,  Olivia.  Nuno 
says  so,  and  he  ought  to  know  ;  and  I  suppose  he  could  tell  me 
a  great  many  things  to  prove  it;  but  he  won't.  He  says  Philip 
is  his  friend,  and  he  can't  betray  his  friend's  secrets.  As  if  a 
husband  should  have  any  secrets  from  his  wife ;  and  as  if  I 
couldn't  keep  a  secret.  Now  you  know,  Olivia,  nobody  better 
keeps  a  secret  than  I.  I  never  tell  any  thing — never!  My 
mouth  is  sealed  upon  a  secret,  as  solemnly  and  sacredly,  Livy, 
as  if  it  were  a — a  what  ? — why  a  kiss,  to  be  sure,  lie  might  trust 
me,  I'm  sure,  with  every  thing  he  knows — with  every  thing  he's 
seen  and  done,  and  not  a  syllable  should  ever  pass  my  lips. 
And  yet,  would  you  believe  it,  when  I  ask  him  about  your  Philip 
and  his  secrets,  only  to  tell  you  every  thing,  why  he  tells  me 
that  Philip  says  he  will  tell  me,  and  that  I  will  tell  you,  and  then 
every  body  will  know  every  thing.  The  fact  is,  Livy,  one  thing 
is  very  certain  to  me,  that  if  your  Philip  speaks  in  that  way — 
though  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it — he's  a  very  saucy  person, 
and  Nuno  should  not  listen  to  him.  But  Nuno  believes  him  the 
best  fellow  in  the  world,  and  says  he  loves  him  next  to  me. 
Not  close,  you  know,  but  far  off — that  is,  he  has  no  friendship 
for  any  body  betwixt  him  and  me.  Now  I'll  let  you  into  a  great 
secret  that  Nuno  told  me,  and  O !  he  was  so  positive  that,  you 
shouldn't  hear,  of  all  the  world,  and  I  promised  him  not  to  tell 
you,  Livy,  but  I  didn't  mean  it,  and  I  know  bettor  than  all  that  j 


THE   SECRET.  163 

for  what  Is  a  friend  meant  for,  if  one  is  to  tell  them  no  secrets 
at  all,  and  hear  no  secrets  from  them  ?  Pretty  friendship  that, 
indeed  !  No !  no !  I  know  better,  and  I'll  be  faithful  to  you, 
Livy,  and  tell  you  every  thing." 

The  necessity  of  stopping  to  take  breath  alone   arrested  the 

torrent.    Meanwhile,  Olivia  had  not  the  heart  to  reject  the  alleged 

secret,     That  which  was  stirring  in  her  own  bosom,  and  making 

her  wretched,  seemed  to  catch  at  every  suggestion  from  without, 

;is  if  it  brought  with  it  a  hope  ;  and,  indeed,  we  are  half  inclined 

to   think  that   very     young  girls,  of  the  age  of  those  two,  have 

not  often  boon   persuaded  to  reject  a   revelation   in  which  those 

.    feminine  interests,  of  love  and  marriage,  are  the  understood 

cuts.     Olivia.  however,  sat  incurious — seemingly  so,  at  least 

— at  all  events  >h.-  was  passive. 

••\V.-II!  ilnii't  von  a*k  uhat  the  -eeret  i<.  I.ivy  !  \  "ii  don't 
'i  to  pretend  that  you  don't  care;  t '..••.  don't  1  know  you're 

dying  ti.r  this  same  IMiilip  de  Vasoonseloe,  and  that  you  think 
more  of  the  plumes  in  his  helmet  than  of  the  heads  of  all  « 
men  ?" 

Olivia  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh !  if  you  don't  wish  to  know,  Mary  Mother,  1  don't  wish 

t<»  foive  it  upon  you.  I  can  get  any  number  of  girls  to  listen  to 
my 

And  >he  pouted  ami  allectcd  a  moment's  reserve.  But  she 
lit  a-<  well  have  sought  to  stifle  a  volcano  with  a  soup-plate, 

to   '-n-leavor  to  keep  down   her  tidings  when    the\   had   once 
led  to  h-r  tongue. 

'•Ah!    I    see    you    are   BO1TY,  DO*  '       Well,  YOU    -hall    h 
You  must  know,  then,  that  Philip  lias  determined  not  to  go  with 
tlu-  A'lelantado.  and   he  toll  Nuno  that    it  was  because  he   love.) 
\ou   «•'»  much.     And    Nuno  Bgyi  it    has  ,  great   hubbub, 

and  the  Addantado  5^  in  quite  a  fix.  and  y.»ur  uncle,  the  old  Turk, 
h:i-  been  row  IMiilip  to  persuade  him;  and  Xuno  thinks 

that  D"ii  P>althazar  has  ma-le  him  a  promise  that  if  he  goes  with 
the  expedition,  and  mak.  -  but  one  campaign,  that  he  shall  then 
have  your  hand.  So  that  all  i*  !•»  end  happilv  at  la-4,  Livv.  My 

7* 


154  VASCONSELO3. 

Nuno  and  your  Philip  will  come  home  together,  and  when  you  are 
married,  we'll  buy  a  hacienda  alongside  of  yours  at  Matelos,  and 
we'll  be  as  happy  as  birds  of  Paradise  with  our  husbands.  Isn't 
it  nice,  Livy,  and  won't  we  be  so  happy — so  very,  very  happy?" 

"  Never !  never !"  exclaimed  the  poor  girl  solemnly,  her  head 
drooping  upon  her  hands,  through  the  fingers  of  which  the  big 
tears  were  seen  to  trickle. 

"Oh!  but  we  will,  I  tell  you.  None  of  your  nevers  for  me. 
It  must  be  so !  Why,  Livy,  what  do  you  cry  for  ?  Because 
you  will  have  the  very  person  that  you  lo\ 

"  No !  no  !     I  shall  never  marry,  Leonora.'' 

"Oh!  I  know  better  than  that!  Why,  what  in  the  world 
were  you  born  for,  Livy?  What  but  to  marry  a  noble  gentle 
man,  and — and — oh,  you  know  what  I  mean;  so  don't  lock  ><> 
like  a  simpleton.*1 

" !  have  resolved  not  to  marry,  Leonora.  I  hope" — here  her 
voice  iivinbled — "!  hope  that  Don  Philip  will  never  compel  me 
to  iv fu -e  his  offer." 

M  ( )f  course,  he  won't  compel  you  to  refuse.  No,  indeed  ;  if  1 
\\eiv  he  I'd  rather  compel  you  the  other  way,  for  say  what  you 
will,  you  love  him,  and  you'll  have  him,  if  he  ever  asks  you , 
and  he  loves  you,  and  he  will  ask  you;  and  I  shall  be  at  the 
wedding,  and  we  will  live  alongside  of  each  other,  in  our  two 
heavenly  haciendas  at  Matelos,  and  there  shall  be  no  more  wars, 
ind  no  more  campaigns  in  Florida,  and — and — " 

There  was  another  breathing  spell  necessary  for  farther  pro- 

ts.     rJ1iis  found,  the  gay,  thoughtless  creature  resumed. 
• "  But  I  haven't  told  you  half  of  my  secrets.     Nuno  says  that 
Philip  and  his  brother  Andres  have  quarrelled,  and   it,  is  all  on 
<  our  account.     He  told  Philip  that  you  had  refused  him " 

"  He  should  not  have  done  that." 

"  No !  and  by  the  way,  Livy,  that's  what  I  have  to  quarrel 
with  you  about.  You  never  told  me,  your  own  sister  in  love,  a 
word  about  that  busmen.  Oh!  you  sly,  selfish  thing.  To  keep 
such  a  good  secret  to  yourself,  and  never  so  much  as  give  me  a 
peep  at  it.  I  wouldn't  have  served  you  so." 


LEONORA'S  CONSOLATION.  166 

"  You  NvouM  have  told  it  to  Don  Nuno  ?" 

"No.  indeed !  I  can  keep  a  secret  M  dose,  you  know,  as  any- 
DOdy.  A»  for  him.  I  never  tell  him  anything.  But,  let  me  tell 
you  aliout  tin-  quarrel.  Tliere  were  high  word-  between  them. 
Don  Andres  told  Nuno  himself.  Philip  never  said  a  word ; — 
and  Don  Andres  went  off  from  him  and  took  awav  all  the  Por 
tugucse  -oldicix  who  were  all  followers  of  l).,n  And!,-.  H-- 
ha>  ihe  money,  you  know,  though  he  is  the  \  mincer  brother. 
Vet  I  doubt  if  he  has  any  great  deal  of  that  !  But  Philip  has  still 
having  ^,rllt  all  his  patrimony  in  Florida  before,  when  he 
went  there  with  Cube/a  de  Va<;a.  Philip  hasift  even  a  paije  t«. 
buekle  on  his  armor,  and  he  has  given  Nuno  his  moiu-v — all  that 
he  has,  1  suspect, — to  buy  him  a  negro  boy  to  serve  as  a  page 

to  bring  his  horse  and   buckle  on  his  armor.     Think  of  that a 

M o,,r  to  be  the  page  of  a  noble  knight.     Oh!  it  is  so  pitiful ! 
1  am  rery,  very  >orry  for  pour  Philip." 

Olivia  looked    MUTV  top,  but    she    never  lifted    her  head    and 

:•  .-p.ike  ;  a  deep  Huh  forced  its  wa\  fnun  her  IIOM.MI.  and  ^li,- 

thought— Oh!    what    dreadful    ihouglit-*    wei'e    lu-rs.        JI,,W    >h.- 

would  have   n-joieed   to  take  the   poor  knight  to  her  bn<om.  and 

with    her  wealth    to   lift    him    into    {.ride    above    the    pitv  ot 

•  •lu-d    multitude.      Her  thoughts  t«««.k    >peech    in   tears;    and 
r   \\as   wrung  from   a    bleeding   heart.      Little    did    her 

tlioii.  ompanion  dream  of  the  anguish  which  >hecau-c.i  b\ 

her  wanton,  though  unmeaning  babble,     riinieaiiing  though  it 
from  her  lips  it  \sa-  full    of  meaning  in  the   MJU!   of  the  bei 

1       Rink    deep,  and    settled     firmly     there,   to    be'    reproduced     bv    a 

perpetual  and  unsleeping  memory. 

-  But.  dear  me,  Livy,  how  can  you  be  so  sad  after    all   1   have 
been  telling  you  .'      ])oifty<»u>.  TV    thing   promise 

•   out  well  ?    Your  uncle  relents;   Don  Philip  loves  you;  VIMI 
him;   then-  will  be  nothini;  to   p:  ir   marrying  him 

now,  and  your  happiness  is  sure.     Do  you  weep  for  that  .'     What 
a  strange,  f  >olMi  child.   t<>  wee[.  i  is  to  be   ha; 

"1  shall  never  be   happy.  Leonora,      1  shall    never  marr\    1  )"ii 
Philip,  or  any  man.      1  shall  go  to  a  convent."  " 


156  VASCONSELOS. 

"  A  convent !     What !  with  your  face  and  fortune  ?     Now 
know  you  are  crazy.    But  you  don't  mean  what  you  say.    Leave 

convents  to  the  ugly  and  the  poor,  to  those  who  have   no  hopes 
and  no  pleasures " 

"  I  have  no  pleasures — no  hopes  !" 

"And  why  not?     It's  because-  you  won't  have  them,  then.     If 
1  were  you,  1  should  have  nothing  else.     I  should  live  in  hope  all 
the  day,  and  dream  of  pleasures  all  the  night.     The  world  *hould 
bring  me  nothing  but  love  and  sunshine,  and  every   thought  of 
my  soul  should  he  born  in  the  odor  of  a  thousand  (lowers.     And 
why  should  your  happiness  not  be  like  mine — you  who  have  the 
means  to  make  it  so]     Now  don't  think  to  cheat  me  with  those 
vacant  l«>oks.     This  sadness  is  only  a  sort  of  cloud,  behind  whieh 
is  the  brightest  moon  of  joy.     The  cloud  will  disappear  with  tin- 
first  breeze,  and  the  moon  will  shine  out,  bright  and  full  of  hap 
piness.      Wait   a    few    days.      To-morrow    begins    the    sports 
and  the  tourneys.     Oh!  Livy,  such  great   preparations  as   they 
have  made.      Nuno  has  had  the  arrangement  of  everything.      He 
took  me  with  him  yesterday,  to  B66  the  lUts  and  harriers.      They 
have  raided  them  ju-t  without  tin-  city,  in  a  natural  amphitheatre 
amoni:  the  hills.      There  is  a  great    enclosure    for    the    bull-fights. 
We  are,  to  have  the  most  splendid  bull-fights,    as    brave   a>  any 
thing  they  have  in  Spain.      They  brought  in  a  do/en  great  1>< 
yesterday  from  the  mountains — the  finest  animals  in  the   world; 
all  as  wild  as  tigers.      Several  famous   matadors  have  come  with 
them,  and  we  are  to  have    >u.-h    sport.     They    have,  raised    hign 
Mailolds  for  the  noble  people  and  the,  ladies,  and  in  the  een'.re  is 
one  with  a  canopy  for  the  Adelantado  and  the  Lady  Isabella,  and 
their  immediate  friends;    we  are  to  sit   with    them.    Livy.    but    on 
1ONV,  ,nd  nearer  to  the  li>K  so  that  the  gallant  Cavaliers 

can  draw  nii:h  to  us,  alter  each  passage  of  arm-,  and  each  scleet 
hi>  <^uceii  of  Love  ;md  Beauty.  Won't  that  be  charming?  Think 
of  that,  Livv.  I'm  Mire  I  kn..\v  who  \\ill  !>••  among  th-1  nio>t  ual- 
lant  knights,  and  I'm  Mire  1  know  who  he'll  ohoCM  M  IIH  ^ueeii 
of  Beauty.  Ah!  but.  Livy.  you  mustn't  put  on  that  sad  and 
solemn  face!  it  will  never  do  in  such  a  scene  as  that!" 


TIIE   PRE3KNTS.  157 

**  1  will  not  be  there,  Leonora." 

"YOU  OHi't  help  yOUnelC      Your  uncle   will    be   compelled   to 

bring  you.    1  heard  tin-  Lady  Isabella  L  .  .   to  him  that  >rn- 

will  require  you  to  be  of  her  {'arty,  ainl  lie  promised  lier  that  'K- 
would  bring  you.  No!  no!  on  such  an  occasion  nobody  will 
be  allowed  to  May  away.  In  particular,  \\hat  will  be  said  if  the 
greatest  beauty  and  fortune  in  the  Island  wi-iv  not  to  appear  ? 
Ever)  body  would  say  then,  it  was  because  Don  Balthazar  did 
not  wish  you  to  be  seen — did  not  wi>h  you  :  -  1— was  nol 

willing  to  give  up  the  guardianship  of  your  tiva-uiv-.      N 
cannot  help  but  bring  you.     lie   knows    what   an   outcry    w»ulu 
follow  your  absence;  and  the  blame  would  rest  upon  him.     '!  he 
Adclantado  will  see  to  that." 

Olivia  did  not  answer,  but  -he  iMt  tin  if  what    her  ^ra\ 

companion  had  spoken.     She  had  already  had  it    >ignifu-d   to  her 
B  a  matter  of  course,  that  her   prc-i'ii-v    had    h.vii 
required  ;   and  she  felt,  perhaps,  that  there  was  n»  mode  of  • 
from  the    i.  l'o>sibly    a    lurking   and    natural    curiosity 

might  help  to  reconcile  her  to  the  duty.  Nay,  was  it  a  natural 
re!uetaii'-e.  that  which  would  forbear  the  sight  of  the  noble  per- 
formaii'-rs  of  the  man  she  loved  .'  L,-t  h,-r  :  niighr. 

not  to  marry  him,  there  was  no  need  of  a  resolution  to  refuse  to 
see  him  in  a  public  spectacle  \\lieiv  he  wa*  s.-en  by  thousand- 

\Vhiie  they  yet  spoke  of  this  matter,  a  -ervant  a:  •: 
with  a  billet  Irom   I  )on  IJaltlia/ar,  and  B  h  silks 

and  ribbon*.      The-e  amused  the  eiirioi;  ''..rhaif 

an  hour.  The  note  -imp!\  eoiiiinned  what  had  b.-i-n  said  by  tlie 
gay  lady,  toiu-hing  the  d  -:a  I-abella.  In  a  UKHl 

space  after,  a  billet  from  that  lady  her-  ,  iu^r   an   . 

-'loll   of    the    -allle    ile-il'e.    M  .     •  (Hllj-ani' 

brilliant  in-  iiieli  >he 

and  wear  at  the  tournament.      Oli-.  d  thnn,  but  without 

any  show  of  Interest     .V'1    o  L  opon,  who  «\ 

with  |  ..ir;. lion. 

44  You  are  th«-  pe  in  the 

you  have  no  hear:.      I  could  -.s  .        •  :tifu'    pr. 


158  VASCONSELOS. 

"  And  I  too  can  better  weep  than  rejoice  over  them,  Leonora.* 
"  What  can  be  the  matter  with  the  child  ?    Livy,  there  is  some 

thing  wrong — it  is  unnatural  that  you  should  show  such  faces  at  such 
a  time  —you,  so  young,  so  beautiful,  with  such  a  fortune,  and  with 
such  a  lover— with  every  reason,  too,  for  believing  that  nothing 
can  now  stand  in  the  way  of  your  loves.  Livy,  I  do  think  that 
there  is  something  wrong — something  which  I  cannot  guess." 

For  a  moment  the  gay  young  woman  forgot  all  her  levity,  and 
turning  from  the  rich  dresses  and  the  jewels,  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
gloomy  features  of  Olivia,  with  such  intense  and  penetrating  cu 
riosity,  that  her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes  fell  ;  and  she  stam 
mered  rather  than  spoke — afraid  of  that  suspicious  gaze  : — 

"  No  !  nothing  ;  only  I  am  sick — sick  at  heart,  Leonora.  I  am 
very  foolish  and  weak !  Would  to  Heaven  I  were  dead  !" 

"  Shocking !  was  ever  such  a  foolish  child  !  But  something  is» 
the  matter,  and  it  must  be  very  serious  to  make  you  look  and 
speak  so ; — and  I  must  know  it,  Livy.  As  your  friend,  you  must 
tell  me  all.  You  know  how  well  I  can  keep  a  secret.  Come, 
dear,  tell  me  what  it  is  that  troubles  you." 

'ITiis  recalled  Olivia  to  herself.  The  very  appeal  to  her  expe 
rience  in  behalf  of  her  friend's  capacity  to  keep  a  secret,  warned 
hrr  of  the  danger  threatening  her.  She  did  not  philosophize  ex 
cept  through  her  instincts;  these  sufficiently  taught  her  that  a 
secret,  once  supposed  to  exist,  is  already  half  discovered  ;  and  by 
a  strong  mental  effort,  she  threw  off  her  cloud  for  a  space,  and 
allowed  herself  to  answer  prattle  with  prattle.  She  diverted  her 
friend's  curiosity  from  herself  to  her  garments,  and  in  the  exami 
nation  of  silks,  ribbons  and  jewels,  Leonora  forgot  that  there  were 
any  other  mysteries  in  the  world.  Thus  the  rest  of  the  lime  was 
consumed  while  she  remained. 

When  hrr  gay  visitor  was  gone,  Olivia  sank  into  a  seeming 
stupor;  y«-i  her  thought  was  busy  all  the  while  ;  the  mournful, 
dreary,  ghostly  speculation,  which  aimed  at  nothing,  settled  upon 
nothing,  hoped  flu- nothing,  and  feared  everything.  The  day  parsed 
thus.  She  was  unci  msrious  mostly  when  Juana  made  her  appearance 
'•u  the  apartment,  and  only  roused  herself  to  reply  to  the  salutation* 


THE    PRAYER.  169 

of  Sylvia.  Food  was  set  before  her,  but  she  could  not  eat.  Her 
appetite  failed  her  wholly  thus,  for  long  periods,  to  be  roused  at 
periods  into  a  sudden  voracity.  And  she  was  alone — all  alone  . 
She  felt  her  loneliness,  with  her  other  and  severer  griefs,  and  the  im 
age  of  Philip  do  Vasconselos  only  grew  before  her  imagination 
to  compel  her  tears.  How  tenderly  did  she  think  of  him,  yet 
how  gloomily  I  He  was  at  once  her  hope  and  her  terror.  She 
could  have  died  for  him  with  a  bound  and  cry  of  joy  ;  but  she 
dared  not  resolve  to  live  for  him.  On  the  edge  of  this  al  Siral 
of  hope  and  delight  she  loitered  long,  but  the  nobler  sentiment 
rose  superior  to  her  love — nay,  let  us  do  her  justice,  rose  out  of 
her  love,  and  had  its  birth  only  in  her  truth  and  fondness.  The  day 
pa-sed  and  found  her  still  resolute  to  deny  him.  "  No !"  was  still 
the  utterance  of  her  heart  and  will — "  No  !  I  too  much  love  him, 
the  nobleness  which  he  loves,  to  dishonor  him  with  hand  of 
mine  !  Oh  !  uncle,  to  what  misery  hast  thou  doomed  the  orphan 
'•ntru-ted  to  thy  keeping!" 

While  she  broods,  prostrate  before  the  image  of  the  Blessed 
Mother,  scarce  knowing  where  she  lies — scarce  praying  as 
sin-  purposes — her  prayer*,  perhaps,  more  efficient  from  the 
very  incapacity  of  her  wandering  mind,  to  fix,  connect  and  breathe 
them,  to  thebeiiinn  IVing  to  whose  maternal  spirit  she  yet  looks 
for  saving, — let  us  turn  to  the  movements  of  that  cruel  kinsman 
whom  tier  condition  loads  with  curses  which  her  lips  do  not 
speak. 

It  was  only  after  a  lonu  day  of  toil,  public  and  private,  that  he 
returned  to  his  habitation.  He  did  not  seek  his  niree.  who  had 
retired  f«r  'he  ni^ht.  He  proceeded  at  once  to  the  apartment 
of  Sylvia.  The  1,  -pared  to  meet  him  with  complaints. 

"You  must  M-nd  that  idle  weiidi.  .Iiiana.  to  the  haeiciida.  She 
must  br  made  to  work  the  ground.  Sh,-  i-  of  no  KTVlOe  i 

•  ut  of  her.      She    is   continually    I  >•  hen 

>l»e  returns,  and  1  sr,,]d  her.  -hr  i-  in-oh-nt.     Sin-  ;  ;  at''. -r  mi-chief. 
The-e  a1-  ••  for  no  good.      You    had    best    send  her  a  ' 

and  get  one  more  willing  in  her  p 

At  that  moment  Juana  presented  herself.     Her  fir-'  salutatiop 


160  VASCU.NSKLOS. 

was  at  the  hands  of  Don  Balthazar,  in  a  blow  from  his  doublo 
list,  \vliich  smote  her  to  the  earth.  She  rose  with  the  blood  spirt 
ing  from  her  nostrils. 

"  Hence!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  voice  of  thunder  and  a  brutal 
oath.  "Hence!  To-morrow  you  go  to  the  country." 

Juanu  disappeared — but  not  too  far.  She  waited  at  the  door 
and  listened,  her  nose  dropping  blood  all  the  while.  She  did  not 
observe  it.  She  scarcely  felt  the  pain.  The  blood  of  tin-  r« •<! 
man  in  her  veins  supplied  her  with  one  feeling  only,  and  that 
was  for  the  indignity.  She  listened.  She  reserved  Uerself  for 
her  own  time;  but  resolved  that  she  would  not  go  to  ihe  coun 
try.  We  shall  see. 

Meanwhile,  a  long  conference  followed  between  Don  Balthazar 
and  Sylvia,  in  regard  to  Olivia. 

"  She  eats  nothing  that  I  provide  her.  1  know  not  how  she 
lives." 

"  She  has  supplied  herself  secretly  from  other  sources.     That 

6M " 

''Impossible!      I  have  watched  her.     She  has  carried  her  noth- 

ing." 

.F liana,  as  she,  listened,  reproached  herself  that  such  was  the 
case.  She  had  never  thought  of  the  wants  of  her  young  mistress. 
She  now  resolved  to  supply  them  from  her  own  store.-.  She 
now  became  more  resolved  than  ever  to  befriend  the"  damsel, 
who  suddenlv  rose  before  her  eyes  as  an  object  of  sympathizing 
interest.  But  she  did  not  leave  the  door.  She  had  still  other 
things  to  hear. 

u  Here  N  more  of  the  potion!"  said  Don  l.altha/ar.  giving  the 

phial.     "  To-morrow  I  will  see  that  she  forth.     In  her  al>- 

ii  her  apartments.     If  you  find  fond,  you    know   what 
to  do  with  it." 

This  is  all    that  need    concern    us    of  this    o.nfereiirc.      \\heh 
IV i.   Uahh.i/ar  was  about  to  leave  the  apartment,  ni- 
si^hi  of  i  he  1.1. .o,l  upon  the  floor  \\hicii  had  fallen  frv,i:t   the   uos 

of  J  uaiia. 
u  What  is  thi.sT  he  said,  stooping. 


THE    SECRET    ENTRANCE.  161 

u  H;i !  ha!"  laughed  the  old    woman    as   she    looked    down 
"Her  nose  has  eaught  it.      Your  hand  is  not  a  light  one,  Sciior." 
"She  shall  find  it  heavier  \  et.      But  are  \< 
**Yes;   see  lu-re — dro{> — drop — drop — even  to  the  d 
The  old  woman  pointed   out    the    tracks;    hul.    on    the    outside 
Vhey  found  it  in  a  puddle. 

••IIV."  exclaimed  the  D..II,  "the  wench  has  ]oituvd  here. 
She  has  Ii>tened  to  all  that  has  Keen  said.  ll.n  we  must  fi.\  |u-r 
tor  it.  Mix  the  potion  with  her  tl.od.  al>o.  If  she  shares  it  will, 
Olivia,  well !  our  end  is  answered  That  is  the  secret.  <  Hivia 

brihed  her.      She  supplies  her  \\ith  food,  so  that  the  girl  can  well 

t  her  own.  Now  we  have  her.  Uul  take  all  preeau!; 
and  when  she  goes  forth  to-morrow,  sean-h  her  ehamlu-r.  Mean 
while,  do  you  go  to  the  room  of  .luanaand  -ee  what  slu-  ixal)n!it. 
Put  on  a  gentle  manner  wish  her.  Beguile  her.  I  )o  not  span- 
:  repi-oaehes  of  my  violen.-e.  I  will  go  to  the  ehaml.er  of 
Olivia,  and  see  in  like  manner  alter  h 

The  old  woman  threw  oil'  lu-r  slippers  and  softly  stole  to  the 
room  of  J liana.  Don  Ualtha/ar  waited  awhile,  and  then  fol'owe.l 
Biowlj,  on  his  way  t<>  the  apartment  of  his  nie.-e.  whuh  VTOfl  he- 
yond  it.  When  he  drew  nigh,  he  found  Sylvia  emerging  from 
J  liana's  ehamU-r. 

"She  is  not  there,"  said  she  in  a  whisper. 

••li.i!  she  is  then  here  !"     Be  pointed  to  Olivia's  door.   "Go 

m  and  wait."  lie  spoke  in  a  \\hNpt-r  aUo.  The  old  woman 
di-appear.-d.  1  )on  Ualtha/ar  tried  the  door  gently — it  was  loeked 
within.  He  drew  a  steel  pn.l.e  from  his  pocket,  stooped,  and 
bed  a  secret  spring  in  the  panel.  It  silently  uneloM-d  ;  and 
eroiirhing  nearly  ;<»  tin-  lloor.  lie  sue,-, -,-d,-d.  without  noise,  in  en 
tering  the  aj-artnn-nt.  A  dim  light  l.urned  upon  a  tal.le.  The 
uiu-le  looked  up.  and  wa--  «-out;.iin«led  to  Bee  hi-  her 

quietly  In-holding  all  his  m,  fc,]t 

ail  the  xliam,-  and  meumesi  of  hi>  j.roeeeding.  in  the  in. 
diaCOTi  Py.     8  J,  induraied  M  he  WM,    he    e.uild    not 

suppre^>  the  sudden  flush  that  owr-pr.-.id  hi-  .  :  OODOeftJ 

the  confusion  which  paralyzed  his  mo\t-mri,t  iod  f.-r    a    monu-nt 


162  VASCONSELOS. 

arrested  his  speech.  The  face  of  Olivia  declared  her  equal  scorn 
and  loathing.  She  never  rose,  but  looking  on  him  with  pitiless 
composure,  she  exclaimed, — 

"  This,  then,  is  the  noble  process  for  accomplishing  my  <i€^ 
struction! — worthy  of  a  noble  knight — thrice  worthy  a  C'astiliar. 
gentleman — and  altogether  becoming  a  guardian  and  a  kinsman  !* 

The  uncle  rose,  recovering  himself,  with  the  creel    position. 

"  Thy  destruction,  girl !  What  dost  thou  mean  '.  Dost  thou 
think  I  come  to  murder  thee  ]" 

"And  what  else  should  I  think,  when  thou  comest  in  na^t 
fashion,  at  such  an  hour,  and  through  an  avenue  which  is  secret 
to  thyself?  Why  shouldst  thou  not  murder  me  .'  and  why,  if 
such  be  not  thy  object,  shouldst  thou  thus  visit  my  place  of  sleep- 
ing]  But  thou  well  knowest  I  meant  not  that!  Thou  know'st 
that, — thanks  to  thy  other  means  of  destruction  !  I  have  now  no 
fear  of  any  hurt  thou  canst  do  to  this  poor  life.  Wert  thou  capa 
ble  of  a  noble  charity,  I  would  entreat  of  thee  to  end  it — to  take 
thy  dagger  from  thy  girdle,  and  here,  with  no  witness  but  the 
Holy  Virgin,  and  that  Heaven  who  will  at  last  avenge  my  cause, 
strike  me  to  the  heart,  and  close  the  eyes  which  now  see  nothing 
but  mine  own  shame/' 

"Olivia,  thou  art  quite  too  passionate  and  wild!" 

"Am  I  then,  with  the  sight  of  thee,  at  this  hour,  knowing  what 
thou  art,  knowing  what  terrible  wrongs  thou  ha->t  done  to  me,  and 
seeing,  for  the  first  time,  one  of  the  secret  modes  by  which  thou 
hast  dotroycd  the  very  life  of  my  life, — my  hope,  my  soul,  for 
ever  !" 

"Poh!  Poh!  How  thou  relates*  these  matters.  I  tell  thee, 
were  it  not  for  thy  own  thoughts  and  fancies,  thou  ha.  4  su'll-i.-dno 
wrong,  no  hurt, — nothing  which  should  keep  thee  from  being  a* 
gay  as  the  gayest,  and  as  happy  as  the  best.  Look  at  th\  friend, 
Leonora  de  Tobar " 

"Speak  to  me  nothing  of  her!  Were  it  even  as  t)n>u  sa\  est, 
that  my  grief  and  shame  are  only  in  mine  own  thoughts  and  fan 
cies,  is  it  not  the  mo>t  terrible  of  wrongs  that  thou  hast  planted 
them  there,  so  that  their  dreadful  forms  and  images  keep  me  from 


A   BOOTLESS   ERRAND.  163 

joy  by  .lay,  an  1  haunt  my  sleep  Vy  night  with  worse  terrors  than 
Hut,  enough!     Wilt  thou  not  leave  me  to-night  in 
peace — with  such  peace  as  thy  crime  may  permit  to  a  hopeless 
penitent  !" 

M  U  in)  «>ni-  witli  thee  here]     I  look  for  the  girl,  Juana?" 

"  Dili  search  of  her  bring  thee  hither?  There  is  no  one  with 
us  hut  the  Virgin  Mother,  and  the  Saints  who  have  pity  on  the 
orphan.  Hence,  an«l  leave  me." 

••  (  Mv  thing  more  l.cfore  I  depart.  The  Lady  Isabella  has  com- 
misMoned  me  to  entreat  thee  to  come  to  her  to-morrow.  She 
wants  thy  help  and  ta-te  in  certain  draperies.  I  have  promi-ed 
that  thou  wilt  attend  her." 

1   what  if  I   say  I   will  not  ?      What  am   I,  with  the  con- 
BdousneM  \\hich  I  carry  with  me,  that  I  should  dare  look  in  the 
such  pure  and  noble  person  !     But  go — leave  me.     I  will 
attend  the  Lady  Isabella." 

wTh  well!— Thou  hast  not  seen  .Juana?  She  ha'h  not  been 
with  thee?" 

"  She  N  thy  creature — one  who  hath  helped  for  my  destruction. 
What  should  I  do  with  her  ?  1  loathe  llie  sight  of  all  who  belong 
to  tie 

The  Don.  now  thoroughly  savage,  replied — 

••  I  Lr" !  r«'i',  mark  me.  girl,  th"ii  wilt  one  day  so  enrage  me 
with  thy  insolence  that  I  -hall  make  ihee  tremble  with  such  a  terror 
a-  thou  do-t  not  divan 

it    what    thou  \silt  of  vi"]en»e,  only  let   it  not    be  shame 
and  there  shall  be  no  tiv 

•  \\      ifaall  W  e  !      Open  the  door.      I  will  leave  thee." 

irt  as  thou  cam'-t  !"  -lie  replied,  rising  and  taking  the 
key  from  the  lock,  while  for  a  moment  the  M-orn  upon  her  lips 
wa-  lightened  by  a  bitter  smile.  He  looked  furiously  upon  her, 
and  made  a  step  towards  her.  a->  if  bent  to  \\rot  the  key  from 
i-p;  but  a  more  cautions  mood  prevailed  with  him,  and 
•vitli  anger  that  incr. -a<ed  the  a\s  k\s  ardn.-s  of  his  method  of  de 
parture,  full  under  her  eyes  the  while,  he  scrambled  through  the 
panel,  which  instantly  closed  after  him.  Olivia  hastily  svi/ed  the 


164  VASCONSELOS. 

light,  and  proceeded  to  examine  it ;  but  the  secret  spring  was  too 
well  adjusted  not  to  elude  her  search. 

Full  of  anger,  and  with  a  fierce  oath  upon  his  lips,  Don  Bal 
thazar  rejoined  the  old  woman,  his  creature  and  confederate, 
below. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "  hast  thou  found  the  wench,  Juana  ?" 

"  She  is  gone.     She  is  not  within  the  house !" 

"  She  shall  taste  the  Calabozo  to-morrow.  See  to  what  I  have 
told  thee  when  the  Seiiorita  goes  forth,  and  make  the  search 
thorough.  She  hath  concealments  of  which  you  know  not.  Do 
thy  duty  well,  Sylvia,  in  this  business,  if  thou  wouldst  be  sure 
of  my  favor.  In  particular,  do  thou  observe  the  outgoings  of  this 
wench,  Juana.  She  hath  questionless  been  bribed  by  her  lady. 
See  to  her  !" 

Juana,  meanwhile,  was  hidden  in  the  groves  with  a  companion. 
In  the  shadow  of  the  great  orange  trees  the  features  of  neither 
were  discernible;  but  he  was  a  man,  huge  or*  size  and  bold  of 
speech.  lie  treated  her  as  if  she  were  a  child ;  but  tenderly,  as 
if  he  were  her  father. 

"Never  you  mind,"  said  he,  at  parting  with  her;  "the  goods 
shall  be  had,  and  the  blood  shall  be  paid  for  !  ( )nly  a  little  while. 
To  keep  from  the  meat  awhile,  is  to  strengthen  the  stoma«-h.  It 
is  ;i  >trong  man  only  who  can  wait.  lie  drinks  long  who  drinks 
slowly.  Swallow  thy  tears,  lest  tUey  blind  thee.  To-m«»m>\v  is 
better  for  work  than  yesterday;  and  a  good  appetiu  better  than 
a  bad  digestion.  Take  thy  sleep  now,  my  child,  that  thou  may'st 
wake  with  both  thine  eyes  open." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"It  is  not  safe 
fc  -.empt  mch  •pints,  and  let  them  wear  their  swords" 

BRACMO.VT  AXD  Furrtxm 

IT  is  necessary  that  we  should  now  take  cognizance  of  othei 
parties  to  this  true  history,  whom  we  have  suffered  too  long  to 
vemain  in  tin-  hack-ground.  Our  view  is  somewhat  retrosp* 

in   now  about  to  depict    having    been   sketched 
prior  to  tin    BOenea  which  have  occupied  the  two  preceding  chap- 
Lrt  us  return  to  the  well-known  lodg«-  of  the  young  knights 
iuiial.  and    seo   what    a:  changes  which   have 

occiirrcd  in  the  awkward   relations  which  exited    l.etwceii  them, 
the  fruit  of  eager   pasaiota,  and,  unhappily,  misplaced   afKvtions. 
'•:il  days  :.  1  since  the  interview  already  deseribed. 

in  which  th.  y  were  the  sole  and  at  i.      Though  the  scene 

on  that  occasion  had  terminated,  if  not  amicably,  at  least  quietly, 
yet   Philip  de  Va-c,,nsi-ltis,  with   gn-at    BOITOW,  pcr.vived.  on   the 
-ther  to   the  cabin  which   they  occupied   in  com- 
.  that  he  had  relap-ed  again  into  his  condition  of  m< .«.,]: 
tion  which  did  not  alway>  forbear  rudeness.  Th»-i-l.li-i 
.veil  linderstoo.l  alld  dreade.l  the  ] 
-u-picious.  and    re-.-ntfuI  >pirit  of  the  young  man.  which   :. 

pctllo'. 

He  had  >triven,  though  without  much  good  result,  to  soothe  the 
t-vil  spirit  in  the  mood  of  .md  to  mollify  the  disappoint 

ment  which  the  latter  still   keenly  felt  in  regard   to  h' 
by  Olivia.      It  was  under  this  de-ire  that  Philip  had.  in  the  mean 
while,  forborne,  ho\vc\vr    luious,  to  vi-it    the  woman  whom   he 
loved   quite  as  passionately,  though  with  more   <j, -n.-n^ity  and 
prnder-.-e,  than  his   brother.      He  made  no  allusions  to  her  in  nia 

(106) 


160  VASCONSELOS. 

intercourse  with  Andres,  and  was  studious  so  to  select  the  sub 
jects  of  his  conversation,  as  by  no  possibility  to  prompt  the 
mind  of  the  youth  to  turn  in  the  direction  in  which  his  heart  had 
suffered  hurt.  But  Andres  exhibited  no  sense  of  this  prudence 
and  forbearance.  He  was  one  of  those  wilful  and  wrong-headed, 
but  otherwise  noble  and  generous  spirits,  who  prefer,  under  dis 
appointment,  to  suffer  and  complain  ;  who,  of  themselves,  irritate 
the  sore  places  which  they  feel,  and  steadily  tear  away  the  plas 
ter  with  which  the  physician  would  cure  all  their  ailments.  It 
was  in  despair  of  saying  or  doing  anything  which  could  be  ac 
ceptable  to  his  brother's  mood,  that  Philip  de  Vasconselos  finally 
forbore  the  effort.  For  the  last  two  days,  therefore,  an  ominous 
silence  had  prevailed  in  their  cottage  when  they  met.  Nothing 
was  spoken  which  either  might  well  avoid ;  and  Philip  felt  with 
sorrow,  that  the  chasm  between  them  was  hourly  growing  greater 
in  depth  and  width.  But  he  felt  with  still  greater  sorrow  that 
nothing  could  then  be  done  to  arrest  its  increase.  It  was  to  time 
only,  that  great  corrector,  that  the  matter  could  be  left. 

But  time  was  not  allowed  them.  The  tournament  approached, 
with  all  its  excitements,  appealing  equally  to  their  pride,  their 
renown,  and  the  somewhat  peculiar  position  in  which  they  stood 
in  regard  to  the  Castilian  chivalry.  Both  of  them,  accordingly, 
might  be  seen,  a  few  days  before  the  event,  busily  engaged  bur 
nishing  and  preparing  their  armor.  It  had  already  been  remark 
ed,  as  discreditable  to  the  Spanish  knights,  that  their  Portuguese 
auxiliaries  were  better  armed,  in  a  simpler  and  nobler  style,  and 
kept  their  mail  and  weapons  under  better  polish  than  the  former. 
De  Soto  himself  had  been  compelled  to  refer  to  these  knights  in 
compliment  on  this  account,  and  to  urge  their  example,  in  order 
to  prompt  his  Spanish  cavaliers  to  <ret  themselves  serviceable 
armor,  and  to  keep  it  in  order.  They  were  better  pleased  t«i 
show  themselves  in  gewgaws  and  gilt  than  in  the  substantial 
coverings  which  were  essential  to  warfare.  One  <>f  the  histori 
ans  of  this  expedition  thus  contrasts  tin-  appearance  of  the  knight.* 
of  the  two  nations:  "And  he  (th<-  Adelantado)  commanded  a 
muster  to  be  made,  at  the  which  the  Portugales  shewed  them- 


THE   SPANIARDS    AND    PuIMTGL'KSE.  167 

selves  armed  in  verie  bright  armor,  and  the  Castellans  very  gal 
lant,  with  silkc  upon  silkc,  with  many  |>'mkings  aiul  cuts.  The 
Governour,  because  these  braveries,  in  such  an  action,  did  not  like 
nim,  comnianded  that  they  should  muster  another  day,  and  [that] 
every  one  should  come  forthe  with  his  armor  :  at  the  whieh  the  Por- 
lugales  came,  as  at  the  first,  armed  with  very  good  armor.  .  .  .  The 
Castellans,  for  the  most  part,  did  weaiv  very  l>ad  and  rustic  shirts 
of  maile.  and  all  of  them  head-pieees  and  >teele  caps,  and  verrie 
bad  lances."  The  contrast  mortified  De  Soto.  In  order  to  rebuke 

t  ilians  into  an  emulation  of  the  Portuguese,  he  distinguished 
the  latter  (perhaps  unwisely)  with  unusual  favors  at  the  first, 
and  appointed  them  places  near  his  own  person.  This  was  the 
original  source  of  that  jealousy  and  hostility  with  which  the 
Spaniards  encountered  the  farther  progress  into  favor  of  the  1 'or- 
tuguese  brothers.  It  showed  itself  so  decidedly,  and  with  marks 
of  such  serious  diseontent,  that  the  Adelantado  committed  the 
further  error  of  passing  to  the  opposite  extreme,  and  puttini:  on 
siieh  a  cold  aspect  to  our  adventurers,  as  to  forfeit  in  great  de- 

rieir  attachment  to  his  cause  and  person,  besides  expos 
ing  them  to  the  neglect  and  contempt  of  those  who  naturally 
take  their  cue  from  their  superiors.  We  have  not  thought  it 

ary  to  detail  any  instances  of  the  unfriendly  or  insolent 
treatment    to   which  they  were   subject,  but    have    <ati>fied   our 
selves  with  Allowing  what   has  been   the   result  of  it    upon   their 
minds.      Enough  to  mention  that,  in  their  own  skill   and   spirit, 
their  ability  in  the  use  of  their  weapon,   and   their   promptness 
to   report   to   it.  thev  found  thus  far  a  sufficient   securitv  against 
any  outrageous  contempts,  while  the  friend-hip  of  a  few  of  the 
Castilian    knights,  such   as   Nuno  de  Tobar,  reconciled    them    in 
some  degree  to  endure   the   slights  and   indifference  of  th. 
Hut  the  consequence  of  this  false   position  in  the  Castilian   army 
wa<  to  exeite  their  national  as  well  as  individual  pride  ;  to  make 
them  resolve  upon  achievement  ;  to  keep  their  armor  l>ri. 
all  occasions;  to  be  :i!\vay-    n  ady  f>r  MfTiOQ  with  their  weap«»ns 
and  to  pluck  the  chaplet.  on  all  OOOMfoQP,  from  the  helms  of  their 
boasting   rivals.      But  their    personal    griefs   were    perhaps    not 


168  VASCONSELOS. 

necessary  as  incentives  to  performance,  in  the  case  of  knightr 
with  whom  chivalry  still  prevailed  with  all  the  force  of  a 
passion. 

Our  brothers  pursued  their  task  in  silence.  Occupying  the 
same  dwelling,  and  with  but  little  space  in  their  somewhat  nar 
row  limits  for  any  performance  unseen  by  either,  this  silence 
was  an  irksome  one.  The  elder  brother  had  made  repeated 
efforts  to  break  through  the  icy  reserve  which  prevailed  in  the 
demeanor  of  the  younger  from  that  fatal  night,  the  events  of 
which  have  already  been  described.  On  that  night,  after  their 
passionate  interview,  Andres  de  Vasconselos  had  returned  from 
his  lonely  and  gloom\  wanderings,  in  no  way  improved  for  com 
panionship.  His  affections  were  more  stubbornly  congealed 
than  ever ;  his  passions,  if  less  explosive,  not  a  whit  more  sub 
dued  or  placable.  A  sullen  rigidnoss  was  conspicuous  in  all  his 
features ;  a  gloomy  in  flexibility  in  his  mood  ;  a  hostile  reserve 
in  his  actions  and  deportment.  This  continued,  increased  hour 
ly  by  the  reports  of  the  city,  touching  the  supposed  superior 
good  fortune  of  his  brother  in  respect  to  the  affections  of  the 
lady  of  their  mutual  love.  The  kind  words  addressed  to  him 
by  Philip  were  answered  only  in  monosyllables,  which  were 
sometimes  more  than  cold,  and  accompanied  by  looks  which 
the  truly  warm  feelings  of  the  elder  brother  regarded  as  little 
less  than  savage.  A  becoming  pity  and  sympathy,  however, 
led  him  to  be  indulgent  to  a  nature  which,  naturally  passionate, 
was  now  suffering  the  stings  of  a  peculiar  provocation.  Besides, 
was  not  Andres  the  last  born,  and  the  favorite,  of  a  mother  who 
was  tenderly  beloved  by  both  ?  Philip  did  not  forbear  his  e£ 
forts,  because  they  were  received  with  indifference.  He  felt  that 
the  moment  was  one  which  might  form  the  turning  point,  the 
pivot,  of  a  sad  and  serious  future.  The  chasm  left  unclosed  in 
season  must  only  widen  with  time.  The  affections  suffered  to 
remain  ruptured,  or  hurt,  would  only  become  callous  from  the 
lack  of  proper  tendance,  a  gentle  solicitude,  a  heedful  care, 
the  patient  sweetness  of  a  loving  watch,  which,  never  obtrusive. 


A    Sl'MMKK    EVENING.  169 

iwver  suffered  the  proper  moment  of  consolation  to  be  lost. 
Such  was  the  spirit  with  which  Philip  de  Vasconselos  regarded 
his  wayward  broth' 

It  was  two  days  yet  to  the  opening  scenes  of  the  tourney,  the 

beginning  of  which  we  have  already  seen.  The  day  was  at  its 
<-lo-e;  a  day  all  Unshed  with  beauty,  and  sweet  with  the  warm 
nreathings  of  the-  budding  ^ummer.  The  sun  was  at  his  setting 
[\\>  not  ungrateful  rays  fell  pleasantly  gay  upon  the  green  slope 
whieh  led  to  the  slight  bohio,  or  cottage,  made  of  poles  and  reeds 
thatched  with  straw,  whieh  the  brothers  occupied.  Soft  flicker 
ing  f»hN  and  remnants  of  purple,  that  seemed  momently  rolling 
then.  p,  and  disappearing  with  the  breeze,  only  to  re-ap 

pear  and  >pivad  themselves  out  in  increasing  brightness,  on  higher 
;  hill,  won,  at  the  same  moment,  the  silent  fancies  of  the 
brothers.  The  hills  were  fringed  with  faint  red  tints  that,  glori 
fied  them  a<  with  heavenly  halos ;  the  woods,  filched  with  the 
mingled  drapery  of  >pringand  summer,  lay  gently  waving  in  the 
hn  .  .rocked  in  the  arms  of  beauty,  and  canopied 

with  the  smiles  of  heaven.      It   was   one  of  those  delicious    mo 
ments   wh.-n    the   world    withou1  with   all   its   s\v:vtm— < 
into  the  heart,  and  takes  the.  whole  soul  into  its  embrace  of  ] 
1  in-    '^"  t'ji T-.  a-    by  a  eoinnioii   instinct,  threw  a>ide  their  toils. 
an.1  ea*    UWID                   wn  upon  the  hill-slope,  their  eyes  rai, 

:   trie  blessed    pro>peet.      Their  shields,  of  bright    blue    & 

.  and  shining  like  mirrors    in    the  <un,  reflected    back   the 
riellow  voftne-v  «,{'  his  beam<.      They  hung  upon  the  upright  | 
without   the  ,  '  the  entrance,  to  \\hi.-h  they 

furnislieil  a  rich  and  ln-litting  «lecoratioii.     Their   long 
well-sounded  and  seasoned  a- h.  headed  with  br'  iidit 

',  that  >hone  like  -liver  in  the  >un,  were  leaned  ngains' 
wall  of  the  dwelling,  and  also  without  the  ci'tvaiiee.  '!'!.,•  ; 
of  Anilr-  ii,  had  ju-t  piadi-  his  , 

and  taken  his  departure,  under  instructions  from  hi-  :   m«l 

ror  a  moment,  the  tw-  fn-m   :h. 

lay,  seemed  disposed  to  8Datdi a  respite, in  th-  :  \0p:h 

had  descended  upon  all    nature  in  the    -la'.ful    approach  of 

8 


VASCONSELOS. 

nuig.  Andres  lay  at  length  beneath  the  slender  shadows  of  a 
palm,  which,  at  an  earlier  hour,  could  have  yielded  no  shelter,—- 
none  was  needed  now.  His  eye:;  were  shrouded  1>\  his  arm, 
which  was  carelessly  thrown  across  his  brows.  While  in  this 
ntiitude,  Philip  rose  suddenly  from  where  he  lay,  and  moved  bv 
n  brotherly  impulse,  approached  him  and  threw  himself  quietly 
by  his  side. 

*  Andres,  my  brother,"  was  the  affectionate  salutation  of  the 
cloer,  "it  is  naturally  expected  that  we  shall  both  do  our  devoir 
in  the  approaching  tourney.  It  is  due  to  our  reputation,  as  good 
knights,  and  particularly  to  our  position  among  these  gentlemen 
c  f  Castile,  whc  would  not  be  slow  to  remark  upon  any  unwil 
lingness  which  we  might  betray  in  entering  the  lists.  They  will 
do  their  best,  and  we  must  do  ours.  That  we  can  maintain  our 
own,  and  the  honor  of  our  country,  in  a  passage-tit-arms,  whether 
with  lance,  sword,  or  battle-axe,  with  any  of  these  cavaliers,  I 
nothing  question;  though  there  be  knights  among  them  manv 
who,  like  Nun^  ^o  Tobar,  will  honor,  by  their  prowess,  those  who 
n  ay  strive  against  them.  These  will  afford  us  sufficient  exercise 
and  honor.  It  needs  not,  my  brother,  that  we  should  cross  wea 
pon  with  each  other." 

A  grim  smile  passed  over  the  features  of  Andres,  as  he  with 
drew  his  arm  from  above  his  eyes.  The  expression  was  an  un 
pleasant  one  to  Philip.  A  brief  pause  ensued.  At  length  the 
younger  replied : 

"Verily,  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  it  were  not  wise  to  suffer 
th«-sr  knights  of  Castile  to  suppose  thee  unwilling  to  cross  wea 
pons  with  any  warrior,  even  though  he  were  of  thy  own  blood 
and  nation.  Such  reluctance,  in  the  minds  of  persons  sworn  **: 
cavil,  might  be  construed  into  doubt  of  thy  own  capacity  an 5 
prow 

"  I  fear  not,  Andres,"  replied  the  other,  calmly,  "  that  any  ?dlt 
judgment  of  these  or  any  cavaliers  will  do  injustice  to  my  re 
[.•'t:i«inn.  -inc.-  it  will  be  easy,  at  any  moment,  particularly  as  i 
snail  never  be  unwilling,  to  satisfy  .-my  doubting  opponent,  and  le 
nience  any  unfriendly  one.  But  no  man  will  venture  to  think 


BROTHERLY    ADVICE.  171 

thai  any  fooling  but  that  of  a  natural  attachment  between  kins- 
men  hath  kept  us  from  a  trial  of  skill  ami  prowess,  which,  though 
it  be  but  tiro  mimicry  of  >trife,  is  yet  too  nearly  like  it,  and  is 
but  too  frequently  apt  to  occasion  the  reality,  not  to  plead  against 
our  indulgence,  adversely,  in  tho  exercise.  It  is  not,  however, 
what  the  \vorhl  without  may  think,  my  brother,  but  whatwe/<?e/ 
within,  which  should  control  our  wishes  in  this  ma-tter.  It  is 
enough  for  me  that,  even  in  sport,  I  love  not  to  confront  with 
•  MI  the  bosom  of  a  brother  who  is  so  very  dear  to  mine." 

••  Hrother,  mine,  I  do  not  quite  understand  these  refinements. 
\V<  have  eroded  weapons  in  the  tourney  a  thousand  times  ere 
this,  in  our  early  exetvises. — nay,  in  the  very  training  which  thou 
h;t-t  given  me.  and  whieh,  as  a  grateful  pupil," — this  was  spoken 
with  a  smile  by  no  nu-ans  pleasing  in  the  eyes  of  Philip, — "I  am 
only  loo  glad  i,,  have  ree.-ived  at  thy  hands.  What  is  there  now 
ike  the  ditl'eiv! 

••  A-k  thy  own  heart.  Andres,"  replied  the  other,  sadlv.  "Art 
fhou  the  same  person  that  thou  wast,  when,  without  a  care  or 
thought  but  <»f  the  art  which  thou  hadst  in  thy  desire,  thou  took'st 
lh\  first  lessons  from  my  lance?  Since  that  day  thou  ha^t 
mingled.  \\>r  thyself,  in  the  press  of  knights;  thou  ha-t  shared 
the  eager  fury  of  the  battle;  thou  hast  won  for  thyself  a  name 
which  thou  must  maintain,  at  all  perils,  to  thyself  and  otl. 
Hut  thou  hast  other  feelings,  fears  and  hopes  than  tho^e  which 

pOMeSM   1  thee  when   a   boy;   thou  ha-t  grown    a    man  of  <-.••. 
and.  I  grieve  to  think  it,  my  brother,  thou  no  long.-r  look'st  upon 
me.  thy  Philip,  as   th«-    loving  friend   from  whom   came   thv  first 
Of   in   arts  and  am.  M  make    it    pnulent   and    proper 

that  we  should   not  stri  h  other.     The  aeridoiits  of 

tlic  tourn-  :    thcmstlves,  sutlieieiit  to  keep  our  arms  asun 

der.      Men    have    bveii    slain,  unwittingly  by  their  rival    knights, 
through  :'  :Vai!ly  ;uid  fault    in 

arm;    through   ha-te;    thi'oiigh   U  ;i.  and   tho-e   name 

provi.len-'ex  ,,f  the  e.-Mliet.  of  which  no  in.. 

no  wisdom  can  foresee.     But  chiefly  do  I  desire    that  we  should 
not  find  our  weapo-  i,  inasmuch  a-  my 


172  VASCONSELOS. 

brother,  a  decline  of  that  trust  hi  me — that  love,  winch,  of  old, 
made  it  pleasant  to  me  to  teach  thy  inexperience." 

"  I  am  no  longer  inexperienced,  Philip  de  Vasconselos.  1  no 
longer  need  thy  teaching,  or  that  of  any  man !  Thou  talk'st  of 
accidents  from  weakness,  and  defect  of  armor.  Never  better 
armor  than  mine,  as  thou  knowest,  came  from  the  forge  of  the 
Milanese.  It  had  its  fashion  from  the  same  hands  with  thine,  and 
is,  I  warrant  me,  as  free  from  frailty.  My  lance  is  under  thine 
eye.  The  sword  which  I  carry  has  lu-en  a  thousand  times  within 
thy  grasp.  Thou  canst  tell  the  weight  of  my  battle-axe,  and 
knowest  the  value  of  its  tempered  metal  as  certainly  as  thou  dost 
thine  own.  What  remains  ?  Methinks,  my  brother,  there  is  no 
such  difference  between  the  strength  and  size  of  my  body  and  of 
thine.  Take  the  muscle  of  this  arm  within  thy  grasp.  Doth  it  show 
to  thee  a  feebleness  which  should  make  it  shrink  from  any  strug 
gle  with  any  cavalier,  even  though  he  be  of  redoubtable  prowess, 
like  thyself?  Thou  speak'st  of  what  is  in  my  heart ; — of  a  change 
in  my  feelings  towards  thee! — it  may  be  there  is  such  a  change ! 
Verily,  I  see  nothing  in  my  fortunes  or  in  thine,  Philip  de  Vas 
conselos,  which  should  make  me  regard  thee  with  feelings  such  as 
we  bore  to  one  another,  when  thou  stood'st  not  in  the  way  of  my 
hopes,  and  hadst  not  yet  shrouded  my  heart,  in  the  overwhelm 
ing  shadow  of  thy  greater  fame !  I  reproach  thee  not,  that  such 
has  been  th)  fortune ;  but  verily,  it  is  no  longer  seasonable  with 
thee,  to  discourse  to  me  of  the  love  of  kinsmen ;  and  I  tell  thee 
more,  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  thou  hast  but  too  much  the  habit  of 
speaking  to  me  as  if  I  were  still  the  boy,  untaught,  and  only  now 
receiving  from  thee,  for  the  first  time,  his  infant  lessons  hi  the  use 
of  blunt  spear  and  shielded  weapon." 

"And  is  it  thus,  my  brother?"  was  the  mournful  answer  of 
Philip  de  Vasconselos. 

*•  But  I  will  not  upbraid  thee;  and  yet  I  will  not  forbear  to  en- 
treat  thee.  The  feeling  which  thou  shmvest  is  m<»l  •  •ertaiiily 
enough  to  make  me  unwilling  (<•  riir<>unt<-i  with  tin-.1  in  this  tour- 
liov.  Were  it  p«.-»-'Mr,  wii!:out  shame  and  uiseredit,  to  re  fuse  to 
take  lance  in  these  guy  passages,  1  should  must  surely  withdraw 


PHILIP'S  ANTICIPATIONS.  173 

myself  from  the  field.  Brit  I  am  pledged  to  the  encounter  ;  with 
lance,  sword,  and  battle-axe,  three  strokes  of  eaeh;  with  Luis  de 
Moscoso,  with  Balthazar  de  Gal  legos,  with  Nuno  de  Tobar  ;  and 
it  may  be  with  others,  whom  I  now  m-all  not." 

"Thou  canst  not  well  escape  thy  devoir,"  said  Andres,  with  a 
sneering  smile. 

"Nor,  save  on  thy  account,"  replied  the  other  "would  1 
desire  to  do  so.  But  there  is  that  within  my  bosom,  An-i1 
whatever  may  inhabit  in  thine ,  which  makes  me  shrink  from 
the  thought  that  we  shall  cross  lances  in  the  meke.  1  know 
not  that  thou  designest  such  a  conflict;  but  I  kno\*  thy  ambition — 
thy  pride — and  I  fear  that  evil  spirit  which  sometimes  : 
thee,  making  thee  blind  to  thy  better  feelings,  and  to  the  claims  of 
those  about  thee,  and  which,  I  grieve  to  say  it,  has  but  too  fre 
quently  shown  itself  in  thy  moods  of  late.  Brother,  hearken  to 
me; — I  pray  thee  let  us  not  meet!  Thou  wilt  find  many  noble 
knights  to  conquer,  who  will  do  thee  honor.  There  will  be  no 
lack  of  the  fit  antagonist,  even  though  Ilernan  de  Soto  himself 
shall  take  the  field.  Let  u-  do  nothing  which  may  perchance 
le^eii  or  change  that  love  which  our  mother  gave  us  and  which 
should  be  deal'  to  u>.  because  of  her.  as  bec&lise  of  ourselves." 

"It  is  on  //<//  account — for  me — that  th<»u  wouldst  y.void  the 
eneounter  with  me!"  replied  the  younger  brother.  "Verily, 
Philip,  thou  ha^t  betrayed  thy  modesty.  Is  it  so  sure  that  mv 
lance  must  fail  when  it  cn.oes  thine  '. — is  thy  arm " 

"  Nay,  brother,  why    thus   wilt,  thou    mi-take   my  purjn 
thus    cruelly    outrage    my     atlecti.ms  ?      I    do   ii"t    reproach   thv 
prowess  when  I    tell  thee  that  it  is  on  thy  account,  wholly.  lh:tt   I 
would  avoid  thi->  encounter.      I  (ear  that  thou  wiL  v- 
— that  thou  wilt  show  a  >pirit  in  the  field,    which  would    not 
bec..me  a  brother; — that  thy  pride,  wrought  i.: 
sions — by  unjust  suspicions — by  unwise  jealousies,  will  lead  thee 
into  deeds  of  unmeasured  violence,  >ueh  as " 

"  Such  :is  tin.  u  f«ar.  it,  eh  '"  W*»  the  iiMcking  interruption. 

The  other  aiidweivd  proudly-  hi>  loin -s  growing  iii>lantly-  *-* 


174  VASCONSELOS. 

calmer,  and  with  a  slower  enunciation,  while  his  eye  flashed 
with  a  sudden  fire,  entirely  different  from  its  recent  expression. 

"  I  fear  nothing,  Andres  de  Vasconselos,  as  thou  of  all  persons 
should  by  this  time  know ; — nothing  but  shame,  dishonor,  and 
the  reproach  of  knighthood ; — nothing  but  a  wrong  done  to  our 
mother's  fondness — and  that  wrong  which  thy  evil  mood  seems 
resolute  to  do  to  our  own.  To  escape  this,  I  would  have  implored 
thee  to  forbearance ;  for  I  know  thy  temper  in  the  conflict,  and  I 
somewhat  dread  my  own  !  Unhappily,  we  share,  in  some  degree, 
the-  { missions  of  one  another.  Thus  it  is  that  we  have  both  loved, 
ivhi're  both  may  l>e  luckless 'r 

"  No !  no  !"  exclaimed  the  other  bitterly.  Philip  did  not  re- 
gard  the  interruption. 

"  With  our  mutual  passions  roused — our  pride  endangered  in  the 
field's  regard,  I  dread  the  struggle  that  would  follow  :  for,  at  such 
moments,  Andres  de  Vasconselos,  I  cannot  easily  distinguish  the 
kinsman  from  the  foe!  Love,  pity,  the  ties  of  affection,  and 
frifixlship,  are  all  obscured  in  the  wild  passion  when  the  blood 
rules  triumphant  in  the  brain,  and  I  should  bear  thee  down,  my 
brother,  as  unsparingly  as  the  least  regarded  among  the  ranks  of 
all  this  Castilian  chivalry." 

"  By  the  Blessed  Virgin,  thou  speakest,  Don  Philip,  as  if  1 
were  already  beneath  thy  spear " 

"  Forgive  me,  brother,  that  I  have  done  so  !  The  Saints  fore- 
fend  that  lance  of  mine  should  ever  threaten  thee  in  any  conflict ! 
i  but " 

"  And  I  tell  thee,  Don  Philip,  I  no  more  reck  of  thy  lance, 
than  I  do  of  that  of  the  least  famous  of  all  these  Castilian  cavaliers! 
I  know  n.t  of  any  prowess  in  thcc  that  I  have  need  to  fear  ;  and  I 
promise  thee,  should  it  ever  hap  that  our  weapons  be  crossed, 
then  look  to  do  thy  best,  or  I  put  thy  boasted  skill  to  shame." 

"  1  bnast  1:0  skill,  brother!" 

"Thou  dost — thou  art  all  a  boast !  What  else  is  it  when  thoa 
warn'st  me  that  in  the  strife  thou  wilt  be  pitiless — that  thou  wilt 
suffer  no  thought  of  kindred  to  disarm  thee?  Is  it  not  as  mi»"h 


I  HE  s;  176 

as  if  thy  victory  were  already  sure,  ;m<l  thou  hadst  me  trampled 
under  thy  fed 

u  I  have  been  in  fault,  brother  ;  verily,  I  confess  it.    It  is  not  for 
me  to  boa -it ;  an-I  still  !.•                   u  t«>  boast  of  advantage  over 
16,  I  love  thee  too  well  to  be  pleased  at  any  for 
tune  wh'u-h  sha41  be,  or  seem,  better  than  thine " 

The  :  'it-it  of  the  younger  brother  construed  this  sen- 

whii-h  In-  interruj'tetl.  to  refer  to  the  disappointment  of  his 
suit  with  Olivia  de  Alvaro. 

k-  Indeed,  thou  approvVt  the  truth  of  thy  disclaimer  by  thy 
taunts.  Have  don.-.  I  pray  thee,  good  Don  Philip,  and  let  the 
time  bring  its  own  brood  ;  whether  of  hawks  or  sparrows,  it  mat 
ters  not.  1  a-k  not  of  thy  purpose,  and  feel  myself  scarcely  free  t«; 
tell  thee  of  mine.  I  know  not  that  I  have  any  purposes.  I 
•lot  that  1  shall  oppose  any  lance  in  t'n  _TCS.  1  In 

put  myself  in  r-'adines*  to  ..bey  m\  ni-.-essity — or  my  mood — 
whichever  it  may  p!ea-e  th<  to  believe.  I  only  know, 

Philip  de  Va<con>elos.  that  I  am  seorned  and  wretched,  and  thou 
triumphant,  as  well  in  the  love  of  woman  as  in  fame.  Go  to: — 
why  wilt  thou  goad  my  sorrows,  when  such  is  thy  own  good  for- 
tun. 

"Andres,  let  not  the  sun  set  on  tJ  ••'•menr.      I  feel  that 

thou  d<vst   me  wrong,  but    1   implore  thee  as  if  the  wrong  wero 

Philip  extended  his  hand  affectionately  to  his  brother,  as  he 
made  this  appeal.  The  other  did  not  r.-.-eivo  it  ;  but,  waving  his 
own  in  the  direction  of  the  orb  now  rapidly  disappearing  behind 
the  l.-ist  dUtant  billows  of  the  B6A,  he  -aid  coldly — 

-  !!••  inkl  !"  and,  without  another  word,  rose  up  and  strode 
down  the  slopes  which  enndin-ti-d  to  the  city.  The  elder  brother 
threw  himself  upon  the  eaitlu  tVoiu  whence,  during  tl 

M  of  the  dialogue,  he  had   risen   at  the  same  moment  with 
the  other.  1  his  a-  hi  ;  1  upon  his  hands. 

:  ;Iy  !"  he  ;nself — -  he  is  possessed  of  an  evil  de 

mon!  What  is  to  be  done  ?  Will  he  put  himself  in  harneaa 
against  me?  Can  he  purpose  this?  But  no!  no! — The  etfl 


176  VASCONSELOS. 

mood  will  pass  with  the  night.  I  will  tent  him  no  further  with 
the  matter." 

That  night  beheld  the  two  brothers,  in  the  same  apartment, 
praying  ere  they  slept ;  yet  they  prayed  not  together,  nor  at  the 
same  moment.  What  was  in  their  hearts  while  they  appealed 
to  heaven  ?  Alas !  it  is  our  fear,  that,  while,  the  lips  moved  hi 
worship,  the  thought  was  foreign  to  the  homage !  Passion, 
rather  than  prayer,  was  in  their  mutual  hearts ; — the  one  dream 
ing,  the  while,  of  earthly  loves  and  earthly  distinctions; — the 
other,  filled  with  a  wild  conflict,  in  which  pride  and  vanity,  con 
founded  by  defeat  and  humiliation,  were  busily  brooding  in  wor 
ship  at  the  shrine  of  a  divinity  which  they  did  not  yet  presume  to 
name. 

The  next  day,  without  naming  his  purpose,  Andres  de  Vascon- 
selos  withdrew  from  the  place  of  lodging  with  his  brother,  and 
took  up  his  abode  with  Antonio  Segurado,  one  of  his  lieutenants. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"Now  ringen  tronipe»  loud  and  clanouu 
Ther  is  no  inure  to  say,  hut  cat  and  west, 
In  |>nn  the  spores  sadly  in  the  rest ; 
In  goili  the  sharpe  spore  into  the  side  : 
Then  see  even  who  can  juste,  and  who  can  ride." 

THI  Kmora  TILB. 

HAVANA,  at  the  period  of  the  events  which  we  record,  was  a 
growing  hamlet  of  little  more  than  a  hundred  dwellings.  But 
;i  brief  space  before  the  arrival  of  Don  Ilernan  de  Soto  in  the 
island,  there  had  been  an  invasion  of  the  French,  by  whom  the 

:? y  had  l>een  laid  in  ashes.  It  had  been  one  of  his  duties, 
on  his  arrival,  which  had  not  been  neglected  in  continence  of 
his  preparations  for  Florida,  to  rebuild  the  town,  which  he  had 
been  doing  with  all  his  energy,  and  with  a  free  exercise  of  his 

-  as  Adelantado.  To  him  the  Ilabanese  owe  the  election 
of  the  first  fi»rt  which  tlie  place  ever  pOIWsVed.  It  will  be  for 

'••an  antiquarians  of  the  present  time  to  fix  it-  lo.-atit.n.  Asa 
matter  of  course,  we  are  not  to  look  to  the  work-*  of  De  Soto,  ill 
rebuilding  the  city,  for  the  evidences  of  his  architectural  tastes, 
or  tor  any  enduring  proofs  of  the  labor  of  his  hands.  The  place 
then  atlorded  but  an  imperfect  idea  of  the  noble  and  imposing 
<-ity  that  we  find  it  n-  \v .  SI  8  then  possessed  none  of  tin--- 

-  and  massive  -t i -uctuivs.  which  now  assail  the  vision, 
and  ei.mmand  the  admiration  of  the  spectator.  IL-r  heights  and 
harbors  W«T«-  not  then,  as  now.  eover.-d  with  the  mighty  an-i 
frown:1  -ses  that  stretch  tlj«-nisi-lv»-s  around  h.-r.  with  a 

hundred  thousand  guanlian  hands  grasj.ing  bolts  of  iron  terror 
for  her  protection.  But,  if  less  threatening  and  powerful,  she  waa 
not  less  lovely  and  attractive.  Her  beautiful  bay,  then  as  now 

8*  m 


178  VASCONSELOS. 

lacked  but  little  of  the  helps  of  art  to  render  it  as  wooing  and 
persuasive  as  that  famous  one  .of  the  Italian ;  and,  in  the  luxuriance 
of  her  verdure,  which  covered,  with  a  various  and  delicious  beauty, 
all  her  heights;  in  the  intense  brilliancy  and  clearness  of  her  moot) 
light,  which  seemed  rather  to  hallow  and  to  soften,  than  to  impair 
the  individuality  and  distinctness  of  objects,  as  beheld  by  day  ;  in 
the  exquisite  fragrance  from  her  groves,  and  the  soothing  sweet 
ness  of  the  sea-breeze — which,  in  that  tropical  climate,  one  re 
gards  as  the  most  blessed  of  all  the  angels  who  take  part  in  the 
destinies  of  earth — playing  like  a  thoughtless  and  innocent  child 
among  forests  of  vines  and  flowers — the  fancy  became  sensible  of 
a  condition,  in  which  life  can  offer  nothing  more  grateful,  or  more 
fresh;  and,  to  be  sure  of  which  always,  ambition  might  well  be 
satisfied  to  lay  aside  his  spear  and  shield  forever.  Her  cottages, 
each  as  it  were  enshrined  amidst  an  empire  of  fruits  and  fra 
grance,  already  wore  that  aspect  which,  in  oriental  regions,  assures 
us  of  the  dolce  far  niente  in  possession  of  their  inmates,  justifying 
vagabondage,  and  so  irresistibly  persuasive,  that  one  who  feels, 
ceases  to  wonder  that  a  people,  having  such  possessions,  should  be 
content  to  seek  nothing  farther — should  demand  nothing  more 
from  nature — should  even,  in  process  of  time,  become  indifferent 
to  the  wants  and  appliances  of  art — should  forget  the  civilization 
which  they  have  won — shake  off  the  convention  which  has  fettered 
them, and  lapseaway  into  the  stagnation,  if  not  the  savageism,ofthe 
aboriginals;  knowing  life  only  in  a  delicious  reverie,  in  which  ex 
istence  is  an  abstraction  rather  than  a  condition;  a  dream,  rather 
than  a  performance;  win-re  living  implies  no  anxiety,  acquisition 
no  toil,  enjoyment  no  cessation  ;  in  which  nothing  is  apprehended 
so  much  as  change,  even  though  such  change  may  bring  with  it  the 
promise  of  a  new  pleasure.  Such  is  the  power  of  climate;  such 
the  charm  of  that  of  Cuba  ;  but.  we  must  not  be  understood  as  as 
suming  that  such,  at  that  period,  was  its  effect  upon  the  European 
inhabitants.  The  luxuries  of  society  in  that  day  had  not  so  much 
accumulated,  nor  was  the  popular  taste  so  much  relaxed  by  the 
process  of  social  refinement,  as  to  enfeeble  the  energies  and  exer- 
of  her  people.  They  wen-  still  the  hardy  race  which  had 


TIIK    SPANIARDS   IN   AMERICA.  179 

been  trained  to  eD  durance,  strife,   and  all  sorts  of  adventure,  by 

the  unceasing  struggles  of  tlmr  hundred  years.  The  benign  cli 
mate  had  not  yet  done  tin-  work  of  emasculation — perhaps  never 
would  have  done  this  work,  if  the  surrounding  Bavagea  had  l.ccn 
left  ]>artially  unconquered.  Had  the  Spaniards  with  the  profund 
policy  which  is  said  to  have  marked  the  history  of  Aztec  supre 
macy,  suffered  rival  and  hostile  races  still  to  exist,  upon  whom  pe 
riodically  their  young  warriors  could  exercise  their  weapons,  the 
r<>us  encr-ies  of  their  people  might  have  been  trained  to  re 
sNl  all  the  blandishments  of  climate.  As  yet,  they  remained 
unimpaired  by  iN  insidious  sweetness.  The  savage  still  harbored 
in  the  mountains;  the  Caribbee  still  fed  upon  his  captive  along  the 
margin  of  the  gulf;  the  Apalachian,  a  fearless  warrior,  still  roved 
uncon.juered  in  his  mighty  shad,  s  and  the  Spaniard.  Mill  needy, 
with  all  his  treasure^,  looked  out,  on  every  hand,  for  empires 
which  IP-  mu>t  yei  He  was  .sensible  of  the  delicious  lux 

ury  of  his  Cuban  climate,  but  did  not  yield  to  it  his  strength.  That 
tierce,  vigorous  life  which  distinguished  the  Castilian  character,  at 
the  period  of  the  conquers  of  Spain  in  the  new  world, --to  which 
due  such  a  wonderful  constellation  of  great  captains— Corte/, 
the  Pi/am-,  Ojeda.  F.alboa.  and  a  ho,t  besides  — declared  the 
fa  people  in  their  prime,  with  a  startling  mission  of  per 
formance  In-fore  them,  demanding  the  equal  excreta)  of  the  l.e-t 
genius  and  courage.  The  compound  pa— ion  of  avarice  and  ainhU 
tion  left  them  in  no  humor  for  repOSfe  Without  paii-c.  yet  not 
blindly,  they  pursued  their  mission;  and  the  impatient  and  fevered 
restlessness  which  it  demanded  and  excited,  rendered  them  sujw- 
'•'"'  to  ,\er\  |MTsuasion  that  threatened  contlict  with  their 
strength.  The-.-  eoiild  only  prevail  finally  with  the  race  which, 
with  ample  luxuries  in  possession,  find  no  longer  in  their  thiiM 
the  provocation  to  performance.  For  the  present,  no  Spaniard 
can  enjoy  the  sweets  of  Cuban  airs  wilh  comparative  -  They 

have    still    a  gnat    work   to    do,  are    still  goaded    by    fiery    passions   ' 
which   will    not   suffer   them  to    sleep,  and    thevsei/e   their  lu\i; 
with  the    mood    of    the   hurrying  traveler,    in    a   strange  land,   who 
plucks  the  tlower  along  the  wijiidfl  M  he  passes,  and  hastens  ou 


180  VASCOXSELOS. 

his  way.  The  Spaniards  of  that  day  gathered  all  their  luxuries 
en  route,  and  threw  one  acquisition  away  as  soon  as  they  made 
another.  The  fresh  desires  of  achievements  kept  them  from  all 
loitering.  Acknowledging  the  sweets  and  beauties  of  the  scene,  as 
proffered  them  by  Nature — acknowledging  with  due  appreciation 
the  bounty  in  her  gifts — they  tasted  only,  and  pressed  forward. 
They  were,  then,  far  from  yielding  to  that  base  faith  (for  human 
ity),  which  finds  present  possessions  ample  for  their  wants.  It 
needed  yet  the  riper  experience  of  a  hundred  coming  years,  and 
enjoyments  not  yet  within  their  grasp,  to  reconcile  them  to  an 
other  moral — to  the  surrender  of  all  such  as  might  be  rising  to 
their  hope!  They  are  now  driven  by  those  fierce  wants  of  Old 
Spain,  such  as  naturally  rage  in  a  condition  of  society,  which  toil 
some  necessities  still  goad,  and  where  the  door  to  pride  and  power 
is  open  always  to  the  staff  of  gold.  Mere  ease  is  not  the  object. 
This,  in  Cuba,  is  already  in  the  possession  of  its  people.  They 
have  only  t'  live  in  the  sunshine,  and  let  themselves  alone,  and 
thev  live  !  But  in  the  days  of  De  Soto  they  did  not  hold  such 
life  to  be  living.  They  had  then  fiercer  impulses  to  appease,  and 
more  exacting  and  earnest  appetites  to  satisfy.  They  obeyed  a 
destiny !  They  were  still  chiefly  sensible  of  passions  taught  in 
the  market-place ;  by  the  multitude ;  during  the  struggle ;  in 
which  to  hope  is  to  contend ; — strife,  blood,  conquest,  glory  and 
personal  prominence,  in  all  situations  constituting  the  great  argu 
ment  to  heart  and  mind.  Hence  the  individuality  of  the  Span 
iard  ;  his  reference  of  all  things  to  self;  his  swelling  pride  ;  his 
stern  magnificence;  his  audacious  courage;  the  unfailing  hardihood 
of  his  adventure.  How  should  a  character  such  as  this  be  sensi 
ble  to  the  unobtrusive  beauties  of  the  natural  world — to  the  in 
sinuating  sweetness  of  breeze  and  zephyr — to  the  charm  of  flower 
and  landscape1?  How  slow  will  he  be  to  value  that  soft  repose 
from  all  excitements,  in  which  we  are  required  to  share,  which 
belongs  naturally  to  such  a  life  as  that  of  the  Cuban,  where  the 
earth  is  always  a  bloom,  where  the  air  is  always  fragrance,  where 
the  skies  give  out  forever  an  atmosphere  of  love!  Flowers  and 
fruits,  the  sweets  of  sky  and  air,  and  forests  and  oceans,  all  beau 


LAWS   OF   PROGRESS.  181 

liful  in  turn,  all  linked  together  by  assimilative  beauties,  and  all 
blessing,  singly  and  together, — all  nevertheless  fail — perhaps, 
fortuuately  then, — to  supersede,  in  the  minds  of  our  Spaniards, 
the  habitual  desires  of  their  hearts.  Still,  the  heroic  pageant  is 
in  the  ascendant;  the  human  passion.  The  crowded  spectacle, 
the  strife  of  violent  forces,  the  eager  scene  of  human  struggle  and 
conquest,  make  them  heedless  of  all  that  is  simply  sweet  and 
lovely  in  their  possession.  Even  women  share  the  tastes  with 
the  passions  of  the  sterner  sex,  and  turn  from  their  groves  and 
gardens  to  the  gory  terrors  of  the  bull-fight. 

But  why  chide  1  These  people  are  simply  the  pioneers  for 
other  races,  who  shall  more  securely  enjoy  what  they  neglect 
and  despise.  They  work  in  obedience  to  laws  of  nature,  which 
regard  rather  the  uses  of  men  than  their  pleasures.  One  race 
but  paves  the  way  for  another.  We  blaze  the  pathways  for  fu 
ture  generations,  happy  if  they  should  be  the  children  of  our 
loins,  for  whom  we  win  empire  and  clear  the  way.  The  Span- 
inn  Is  of  the  time  of  De  Soto,  in  consequence  of  a  fatal  defect  in 
their  morals,  did  not  always  conquer  the  inheritance  for  their  own 
children.  But  of  this  they  did  not  dream  !  How  should  they  1 
Let  us  now  return  from  our  wanderings,  and  make  generaliza 
tion  give  place  to  detail. 

Following  out  his  plan,  for  increasing  the  enthusiasm  at  once  of 
his  own  followers,  and  of  the  people  at  large  of  the  island  of  Cuba, 
II  ernan  de  Soto  was  now  busied  with  his  preparations  for  the  public 
sports  which  he  had  appointed,  and  with  which  he  was  to  delight 
the  fancies  of  the  Cubans.  It  was  good  policy  that  he  should  do 
these  things ;  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  he  was  not  mere 
ly  Adelantado  of  Florida,  and  of  its  imaginary  treasures  and 
empires  but  governor  also  of  all  Cuba;  which  beautiful  and 
prolific  island  was  to  be  left  in  charge  of  the  Lady  Isabella  while 
he  pur-ued  his  toils  of  conquests  in  the  wild  recesses  of  the 
Apaladiian.  1  Ie  had  designed  his  preparation  on  no  ordinary 
scale  of  magnificence.  Though  reputed  to  be  a  close  and  avari 
cious  general — proverbially  so — he  was  yet  fully  aware  that  there 
are  periods  vthen  i4  is  necessary  to  be  lavish  and  even  profligate 


182  VASCONSELOS. 

of'  expenditure.  The  objects  which  he  now  proposed  to  attain 
strongly  urged  and  fully  justified  a  large  departure  from  his 
usual  habits  of  economy.  His  wife,  the  noble  Lady  Isabella, 
was,  however,  in  some  degree  the  prompter  of  this  liberality. 
She  was  no  common  woman,  but  one  born  with  a  princely  eye 
to  whatever  is  noble  in  the  regards  of  man,  whether  in  the  ex 
ternals  or  the  substances  of  society  and  State.  A  generous  im 
pulse,  at  all  times,  made  her  anxious  IM  satisfy  the  popular  de 
sires — that  is,  wherever  their  cravings  led  them  to  the  appiecia 
tion  of  great  deeds  and  graceful  performance.  Her  knowledge 
of  the  present  objects  to  be  attained  by  her  lord  from  the  com 
mon  sympathies,  increased,  in  considerable  degree,  the  naturally 
gracious  and  free  affluence  of  her  disposition.  She  bent  her 
mind  to  the  object,  and  consulted  with  all  round  her  the  various 
schemes  by  which  to  render  the  projected  display  one  of  a 
magnificence  never  before  paralleled  in  Cuba ;  and  though  the 
Adelantado  groaned  in  secret  over  the  excess  of  expenditure 
which  naturally  followed  from  her  plans,  he  was  yet  fully  con 
scious  of  the  good  policy  by  which  they  were  dictated ;  and  his 
tastes  readily  acknowledged  the  beauty,  skill  and  splendor  which 
promised  to  be  the  results  of  her  exertions. 

The  day  was  at  hand,  set  aside  for  the  commencement  of  the 
public  sports,  which  had  become  official,  and  were  to  last  three 
days.  We  are  not  to  suppose  that,  because  the  higher  forms  of 
chivalry  were  dying  out  in  Europe — because,  in  fact,  the  insti 
tution  no  longer  cherished  there  any  of  the  nobler  objects  of 
the  order,  and  had  sunk,  from  a  social  and  political,  into  a  mere 
military  machine, — that  its  displays  had  become  less  ostenta 
tious  or  less  attractive  when  attempted.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
usually  the  case  that,  with  the  decay  of  an  institution,  its  efforts 
at  external  splendor,  are  apt  to  be  even  greater  than  in  the  hour 
of  its  most  unquestioned  ascendency ;  even  as  the  fashionable 
merchant  is  said  to  give  his  most  magnificent  parties  when  he 
has  made  all  his  preparations  for  a  business  failuro!  In  the  new 
world,  in  particular,  where  we  might  reasonably  suppose  that 
the  imitations  were  necessarily  rude  and  inferior,  of  all  these 


PREPARATION     Foii     1  1 1  K    Ti'l'i:NKY.  183 

pageants,  which  seem,  over  all,  to  require  the  highest  finish  in 
art  and  the  utmost  polish  in  society — which  seem,  in  fact,  to 
belong  only  to  an  old  civili/ation,  su'Mi  as  that  of  Christian 
Europe, — it  was  ordinarily  found  that  the  ambition  for  display 
ua>  more  than  commonly  ostentatious  and  expensive.  Certain 
it  is,  that  nothing  of  the  sort  in  Spain,  for  a  long  time  In-fore,  Mir 
ed  the  promise,  whether  as  regards  the  taste  or  the  splendor, 
of  the  great  preparations  which  had  lieen  made  h\  1  >e  Soto  for 
his  three  days  of  tourney  and  feats  of  arms,  in  the  infant  city  of 
Havana.  The  lists,  as  our  fair  gossip.  Donna  Leonora  de 
Tobar,  has  already  told  us,  were  erected  in  the  beautiful  amphi 
theatre  just  without  the  suburbs  of  the  town.  1  [ere  scaffold 
had  been  raised  for  the  spectators,  running  half  way  round  the 
barriers,  inclosing  a  portion  of  the  area.  T!ie>.  .,  h,. 

draped  with  showy  stuffs.  On  some  slight  elevations,  along  the 
opposite  space,  a  ruder  sort  of  scaffoldings  were  reared  for  the 
common  people.  These,  in  those  days,  did  not  a^ume  that  what 
was  given  them  in  charity  should  be  of  a  Duality  to  compare 
with  the  best.  There  was  yeta  third  distinction  made  in  behalf 
of  the  persons  in  power,  and  their  friends — the  per^m*.  of  noble 
birth  and  high  position.  Their  place  was  snm.-thii-g  h'-_fh«-r  than 
the  othtrs.  built  of  better  materials,  and  in  more  earet'u!  manner. 
In  the  centre  was  a  gorgeous  canopy,  which  might  have  served 
a  prince  of  the  ulood.  .-hioned. 

This  was  de-i-jii'-l  for  the  Adelantado  and   his  nob  || '. 

immediate  friends  and    chief's,  and   tli  •      . 

•rvd  with   private    places    on    either   hand. 

painted  the  arm-  of  Span-,  on   a   rich  shield  or  eseiitch' 
jjvat    golden    towers,    -ignilicant    t-ijually    of   it>    pride 

tronting  the  li-ts  and  tli- 

tiful    exhortation    to    the    Indulgence   «-f  tin-   "  ,i\      I  )i- 

.  and  streaming  proudly  fr»m  a  staff  that 

Iro'ii    behind    it,   flaunted,    in    ni'u'Ji'v    t'-ld-  «.f  -.ilk    heavily 

wrought   with  gold   tissue,  the   arm-. rial    '•  \ 

long  :'  a  smaller  >i/e,  Uit  similar  in  shape 

to  that  in  the  centre,  and  not  inferior  in  workmanship,  formed  a 


!84  V-ASCOSSKLOS. 

tier  of  very  superb  panels  along  the  scaffoldings.  These  denoted 
the.  seats  which  were  assigned  to  the  noble  families,  whose  arms 
they  bore ;  each  placed  according  to  the  rank  of  the  owner,  or 
the  degree  of  power,  or  influence,  which  he  possessed  in  the 
colony.  Banners  and  bannerets,  pennons  and  pennonceles,  waved 
from  spears  whose  broad  and  massive  darts  were  fashioned  some 
times  of  solid  silver.  The  seats  were  cushioned  with  rich  dra 
peries;  with  shawls  of  brilliant  colors,  and  cotton  fabrics  dyed  in 
various  unrivalled  hues,  such  as  the  people  of  Peru  and  Mexico 
had  learned  to  fashion  in  a  style  superior  to  anything  beheld  in 
Kurope.  Bright  armor  of  various  kinds,  employed  for  orna 
ment,  glittered  and  gleamed  at  proper  intervals,  along  thesplen 
did  scaffoldings;  from  which,  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morning  as 
.signed  tor  the  sports,  choice  instruments  poured  forth  peals  of 
th.-  most  gay  and  inspiring  music.  The  plan  of  the  festivities  re 
quired  that  the  cool  hours  of  the  day  only  should  be  employed 
lor  the  more  active  exercises  of  the  combatants.  The  heat  of  the 
i «  unday  sur.  ir.  that  ardent  clime  was,  even  at  this  early  period 
of  tin-  year — the  close  of  April — too  intense  to  render  agreeable 
any  violent  displays  of  agility,  under  he;*vy  armor,  for  mere 
amusement.  The  first  day  was  assigned  to  the  young  knights 
and  squires,  who  were  to  run  at  the  ring,  joust  with  blunt  spears, 
and  smite  the  Turk's  head — the  English  Quintain.  There  were 
to  be  sports  also  for  the  arquebusiers,  and  the  crossbowmen, — 
the  latter  instrument  of  war  not  yet  having  been  superseded  by 
firearms.  To  these  a  certain  time  was  to  be  allotted,  and  Ixill 
fights  were  to  follow,  and  to  close  the  day.  The  amusements  of 
the  evening,  though  all  arranged,  were  yet  of  a  private  character, 
and  did  not  fall  within  the  plan  of  the  Adelantado.  They  were 
also  on  a  scale  highly  attractive  and  magnificent. 

With  the  first  glimpses  of  the  dawn  the  spectators  were  to  be 
seen  assembling.  The  citi/ens  were  turning  out  in  all  direction. 
The  people  were  crowding  in  from  the  country.  The  whole 
island  sent  a  delegation  of  eyes  to  see,  and  hands  to  clap,  and 
hearts  to  drink  in  and  remember,  lon«r  afterwards,  the  wondrous 
sights  presented  in  that  memorable  spectacle — a  spectacle  which 


•nit:  GATHERING.  185 

•  be  not  unworthy  of  the  future  conquests,  in   the  country 
of  the  Apalachian.     Very   curious  \vas   the  motley  crowd  that 
1  itself  on  all  the  streets  and  avenues  leading  to  lh< 

'ii.    There  were  muleteer*  from  the  mountain; 

wandering  tribes  akin  to  tin-  gip-ies  ;  retired  soldiers;  and  half- 
groups,  in  whieli  it  was  difficult  to  discern  which  race  pre 
dominated  most,  tin-  white  man.  the  red  man,  <>r  the  negro.  They 
constituted  a  curious  amalgam  ;  each  exhibiting  some  traitor 
characteristic,  pieture-x|ue,  wild,  individual,  such  a>  Murillo 
would  delight  to  paint — such  as  would  have  ri>eii  into  dignity 
under  the  brush  of  Rembrandt.  Girls  came  bounding 
with  the  castanets  by  the  -ide  of  mules  on  whi<-h  sat  tottering 
grandmothers;  buys  loitered  \\ith  the  cro.^sbou .  o  pi<-k 

up  :i  rtal  b\    -hootm-  it  .!.,\\n  at    twenty  parrs.      ( '..nirabnudists 
!  ..pen  facev.  as,  on  park  mules,  they  brought    the  Aijnar- 

iale,  in  atone  ju  on  la.-h  >ide  ;  its  month  •»p.-n- 

"f  a    panier.      The    stately  ov.iier  of 

he  marked  hi*  hun«lred   ealve*  each  -prini:.  r^de 

•  MI  a  brave    .>arb    by  the    >ide  of  his  family.  nr,-up\ing   a  vehicle 

still  in  u-e.  cuml)rous  but  delightful  of  motion  beyond  all  others, 

—  tli'1  volan1.  .      \\  '-•must  not   stop    to  describe    it.      A*  at    the 

1  >ld  Spain,  in  the  rural  di>tricts  nothing  wa^  more 

curious  than  the  vai '  and  characters  exhibited  bv  the 

•  •f  the  people  from  the  country.      Every  department, 

in  the  old  country  had  it>  fittin-  representative,  tenaoiooa,  in  the 

.rrw  world    of  all  that  (listing. ii-hed  his  province  in  the  old.      The 

\ndalusian.  ribanded  at  wri-t    and    -lioulder, 

aid  shoe ;— the  confident  and  n  Ui-ea\an;  the 

dull    native    of    Valencia;    the    haughty   Catalan  ;—yoii    might 
mark  tlu-m  all  <lroups  wandered  .,1,    together,  the 

highways  to  the  city  being  tot  b«  DTI    never  without  iN  >tro!U-i>. 
Old  songs  \\;-re  to  be  hrard,a-  they  went,from  natural  mu^ciaiis  ; 
sad    touches,   oddly    mingled  with   lively  /W.W/M/.v,  and 
timev.  from  some  rude  crowder,  half  soldi.-r  and    half  pri- 
poet,  you  might  h.-ar  r\t,-mporr  ballads  dr\ot«-d 
arms  of  G>rte/  and  Pixarro.      M  ..•     in  strings  came  down  with 


186  VASCONSELOS. 

fruit  to  the  great  market ;  lines  of  vehicles  of  all  sorts,  all  add 
ing  to  the  clamor.  Sometimes,  but  rately,  the  beggar  held  out 
his  eap  for  charity,  and  was  laughed  at  as  a  cheat  ;  for  beggary 
in  the  new  world  must  needs  be  so  always.  TluTr  was  room 
and  fruit  tor  all.  Sometimes  the  beggar,  however,  was  a  manola 
of  the  lowest  elass,  who  never  asked  for  alms,  but  got  hrr  fee 
for  the  doleful  ditties,  which  no  one  steppe.!  to  hear.  There  was 
better  music  forward  ;  and  the  er<>\\ d>  hurried  <.n  their  march. 
But,  to  enumerate  is  impossible.  Fancy  the  mo-t  picturesque 
region  of  the  world,  filled  with  the  most  picturesque  of  all  peo 
ple,  and  the  most  contradictory;  too  proud  for  restraint,  yet 
with  a  curious  conventional  arrangement,  which,  making  every 
thing  grave,  admirably  allowed  of  the  mingling  of  the  grand  and 
the  ridiculous; — all  at  once  thrown  into  disorder,  under  condi 
tions  the  most  exciting; — all  in  highest  state  of  emotion,  yet  all  in 
the  m<M  amiable  temper; — happy  in  the  moment,  and  prepared 
to  gather  happiness  from  all  possible  sources. 

Already,  at  early  da\\n.  the.  trumpets  began  to  pour  forth  ll.eii 
nio>t  lively  fanfares.  Already,  a  thousand  cries  of  hope  and 
expectation  arose  from  the  gathering  and  rapidly  increasing 
groups.  Some  of  the  young  champions  we're  already  on  the 
ground,  prepared  for  coursing,  for  shooting,  for  running  \\ith 
spears  at  the  ring,  and  with  swords  upon  the  Quintain.  Others 
were  busy  raising  butts  and  preparing  their  shafts  tor  the  spoils 
of  archery.  Some  had  chosen  their  rivals,  in  pa-sages  with  blunt 
lance  and  mullled  rapier.  Jugglers  and  buffoons  \vere  on  the 
ground — tumblers  began  their  antics,  and.  ever  and  anon,  a  loud 
l>ur>t  of  clamor  from  the  crowd  announced  >omc  clever  perform- 
OT  the  appearance  of  some,  favorite  champion.  Murmurs. 
•ually  rising  into  shouts,  declared  the  emotions  which 
-ly  in  the  bosom  <  of  the  multitude,  like  the  billows 
of  the  troubled  sea  heaving  up  in  the  glorious  sunshine.  Hut  we 
have  to  describe  for  the  present,  not  anticipate. 

The  li-ts  were  made  -iifl'icient  ly  ample  for  the  conflict  of  horse 
as  well  as  foot,  and  for  the  pa^ges-at-arm>  of  several  as  of  single 
combatants.  But  these  did  not  confine  the  various  exercises  of 


THE    PROGRAMME.  187 

many  who  aimed   .  -"d  who  found  favorite 

apots  tipon  the  sides   of  the  surrounding   hills.     Rules  had  been 
publUlu  d,  prescribing   the  v;iriuii>  forms    of  combat  which  \\ 

within  th'-  i  the  manner  in  which  :: 

tn  1. 1-  roiidueted.     The-c  were  all  to  be  pacific  in  character,  how- 

deadlv    might   be    tin-  weapon-    which    tl.  thought 

proper  to  employ.      In  the  hands  ui' the  good  knight  or  squire,  it 

Od  tliat  the   >harp  >|>ear.  the    >w««rd.  and    the    battle- 

.  !ni«;ht  be  u>e<l  with  the  nob-  all  and  power, 

without  hurt  to  life  or  limb.     'Hi. TO  were  tiits  appointed  with  the 
lance,    and  duels  with  th.-  -u  .  -rd  :  '->be 

tried  with   the    maoe   and    !>attle-a.\e,  and   of  dexti-rity  with 

roi  and  tl,.-    knife.      But,  in  each    case,  tin-    .-onte-t  wa*    inva- 

rial'lv  to  ln«  decided.  wh«-n  one  of  the  cotnbalaiiN  -hoiil«l  be  put  at 

Ai.nld    place   him    at    t!,<  •  f  his  op- 

T   r.-n.l.-;  ;'  a  battle  a  I'outrance. 

.•;..!!  \\a-    ii" t     a;\\  \vhen 

the  pride  «»f  ih«-  .-hampi'.!!  \va>  mortified,  and  h; 

but  De  Soto  had  reserved  to  himself,  as  ol  \^  tia-  j 

md  lii-i  warder  wa-  D-.n   !' 

•mtliority,  and 

tjnite  h-anicd.  a-  well  .  :ie,  d    in  tin-  b  -.iur- 

nam.-nt.      It 

t«i  tip-    iv<nil;itioi!^  whieh   had  b  Idled  wou'. 

?  the  combatants,   ofth-  m^ 

for  th- 


CHAPTER   XV 

"  Furious  to  the  last, 
Full  in  the  centre  stands  the  bull  at  bay, 
'Mid  wounds,  and  clinging  darts,  and  lanci-s  blast, 
And  (bus  disabled  in  the  brutal  fray  : 
And  now  the  matadores  round  Lun  play, 
Shake  the  red  cloak  and  poise  the  ready  Lraad  : 
Once  more,  through  all,  he  bursts  his  thundering  way — 
Vain  rage  I  the  mantle  quits  the  conynge  hand, 
Wraps  his  fierce  eye — 'tisporf — he  sinks  upon  the  sand  i"— Unuu». 

CHIVALRY  is  only  another  name  for  enthusiasm.  The  oue 
never  dies  out  in  a  community  where  the  other  may  yet  be 
found.  Enthusiasm  must  exist  where  there  is  enterprise  and 
courage;  where  there  is  zeal  and  sympathy;  where  the  virtu  us 
essential  for  performance  do  not  entirely  stagnate.  We  do  not 
make  sufficient  account  of  this  great  leavener  of  the  passimis  and 
the  virtue-,  which  purifies  the  one  and  stimulates  the  other. 
When  a  people  too  greatly  refines  itself,  it  sneers  at  zeal  and 
enthusiasm.  fimjitrwjmnt  is  vulgar  in  the  eyes  of  an  ar! 
ey  ;  and  an  aristocracy  thus  sinks  into  contempt!  AVli«'Hcvr 
the  tastes  show  themselves  wanting  in  enthusiasm,  they  are  ab«")' 
to  destroy  their  possessors. 

The  Spaniards  had  not  yet  reached  this  condition  in  Cuba. 
Nrvcr  were  people  more  easily  aroused,  or  more  enthusiastic. 
T«>  see  them  weep  and  smile,  and  shout  and  sing,  without  any 
moving  cause,  apparently,  you  would  suppose  them  >implv 
era/y  ;  but  their  madries>  had  its  moving  cause,  however  latent. 
arising  from  the  a--tive  sympathy  of  th"  real  life  within  their 
souls,  and  the  grand  and  unmeasured  pa^ions  which  they  dailv 
exercised.  Give  me  a  people  for  performance,  who  have  not 

ye*  learned  to  conceal  their  emotions. 
its 


THE    CROWD.  189 

Havana  swarmed  with  life.  At  an  early  hour  of  the  morning, 
as  we  have  said — nay,  long  before  the  dawn — the  hum  ai  d  buz>, 
of  preparation  were  to  be  heard  in  every  quarter.  The  country 
had  poured  itself  into  the  city  ;  the  city  had  suddenly  taken  the 
voice  and  wing  of  liberty,  Mich  as  the  country  usually  enjoys. 
You  might  see,  all  night,  the  gleam  upon  the  hill-sides  of  torch--* 
guiding  the  footsteps  of  long  cavalcades  over  all  the  routes  from 
the  interior.  Knights,  nobles,  arti>ans,  peasants  and  moun 
taineer-,  UTteroa  and  contrahandi-tas  banished  rogues,  outl;. 
returning  in  disguise,  and  reckless  of  danger,  in  the  passion  which 
the  tournament  inspired  ;  we  have  seen  already  how  motley  and 
variou-  were  the  groups  Crowds,  from  far  and  near,  came  on 
foot.  A  Dingle  mule  sometimes  contrived  to  bring  a  family  ; 
the  cart,  the  s.-dan,  the  volante.  were  all  in  iv.jui-ition  ;  and  < 

[U6  and  beautiful  wa*  it    to   see   the  lung  trains,  seeming, 
for  a!!  the  world,  one  great  continuou  ion.  win. ling  along 

the  circuitous  path-;  climbing  suddenly  to  tin-  hill-top,  streaming 
through  the  pi;;in.  and  vaguely  reappearing — recogni/ed  by 
tlu-ir  tor.-  -in  the  deep  dim  avenues  of  the  >i!ent  foiv-t. 

r   a    group    on    loot,   gay  and  rambling,  would  you   B66   the 

::id  Dwelling  hidalgo,   on  hi-  .  ;  ari- 

.      Noble  ladies  in   their  ear- 

Letimea  in   litters  borne  on    the 

.iders  of  the  -lender  natives  of  the  i>land— followed    under 
the   guidance    of  the   I  Vn.      At  R 

ess  of  all.  ran 

ward    a  i.rarded    mountaineer    upon   a   d-  .nk.-y,  \v  : 

horrid  -creams  at  interval-,  causes  the  gorge  of  th- 
\vitli  the  puni>h  tl. 

••lv  with  Mich  a  be;. 

with  the   -pirit   of  tin  .d    the    mountaineer  rid- 

and  nearer,  without  Millerii  'he  wrath  whieh.  at 

time,  his  appr  rovoke. 

1'ut    day  "1"  Dfl    the    tnight;    i     g  ant.  and    ' 
with  his  purple  ta 
the  conflicting  but  miri  pieturesijue   and 


190  VASCONSELOS 

sorted  costumes ;  the  wild,  but  exhilarating  mixture  of  voice* , 
the  hum,  the  stir,  the  billowy  swaying  to  and  fro,  with  roar  and 
scream,  and  crv  and  hiss,  and  shout  andlaugh — that,  however  vari 
ous,  all  fuse  themselves  together,  as  it  were,  into  one  universal 
•  i  hope  and  enjoyment.  The  hills  surrounding  the  amphithea 
tre  are  already  covered  wit'.i  tents  and  booths  of  reed,  thatched  with 
straw;  with  vehiclesof  allsort;  groupsof  mules  and  horses  ;  stands 
f«>r  food,  and  fruit,  and  liquor  ;  shows  of  mountebanks,  and  tables 
for  the  iMiiiester.  Gay  steeds  are  fastened,  and  watched  by 
liveried  pa^es,  under  clumps  of  palms  affording  shelter.  Gay 
banners  stream  from  every  tent  or  lodge,  assigned  to  knights 
and  men-at-arms.  These,  raised  as  if  by  magic,  during  the  pre 
ceding  night,  occupied  the  more  eligible  vacant  places  contiguous. 
Each  bears  without  the  armorial  insignia  of  the  noble,  whether  he 
held  due  warranty  from  the  legitimate  herald,  or  owed  his  rank 
onlv  to  the  persevering  ambition  of  t\iu  parvenu,  who  seeks,  un 
der  the  shelter  of  a  gray  antiquity,  to  hide  the  short  frock  and 
eoar-e  frame  of  the  adventurer. 

At  intervals  a  sweet  strain  of  music  rises  from  a  curtained 
verandah,  and  an  occasional  shrill  blare  of  a  sudden  trumpet  an 
nounces  the  Netting  up  of  some  banneret,  or  the  arrival  upon  the 
ground  of  the  followers  of  some  one  of  the  many  bold  cavaliers 
who  designed  to  take  a  part  in  the  business  of  the  tourney. 
Some  of  tin-  pavilions  of  these  knights  are  of  silk,  ornamented 
with  figures  of  gold-thread  and  brocade;  not  less,  splendid  to  the 
:' others,  though  made  only  of  the  cotton  stuffs  of 
the  island,  of  Mexico  and  Peru;  but  these  are  all  glowing  with 
rirh  and  living  dyes  of  the  new  world,  the  art  of  preparing  and 
using  which  was  peculiar  to  the  country.  The  pursuivants  are 
busy,  '_r"ing  lorcver  to  and  fro,  assigning  places,  aerording  to  dc 
nid  rank,  for  the  pavilions  of  the  several  champions. 
Troops  of  cavalry  flourished  around,  as  a  police,  coercing  order. 
SIMM.!  detachments  ,,f  infantry  march  to  and  fro,  their  matchlocks 
shiniiiir  in  the  sun.  The  raided  centre  of  the  scaffolding  around 
the  aniphitln-atre,  which  is  assigned  to  the  Adclantado  and  his  im 
mediate  circle,  is  already  pavilioned  with  a  gorgeous  canopy 


DK   BOTO'fl    M01TO.  191 

The  banner  of  Castile  an. I  Leon  is  already  rolling  cut,  with  its 
great,  gorgeou>  ami  gold  folds  above  it.  Not  s-j  loftily  raised, 
hut  yet  so  placed  in  the  Ion-ground  as  to  attract  all  eyes,  is  the 
personal  banner  of  De  Soto  :  a  sheet  of  a/ure,  on  which  is  painted 
a  spirited  picture  of  a  cavalier,  mounted  on  a  fiery  charger,  both 
armed  to  the  teeth,  and  ahout  to  leap  a  precipice.  The  picture  il 
lustrated  one  of  the  AdelantadoV  great  teats  in  IVru.  The  motto 
is  Italian,  in  gold  letters — -  Fidati  pur;  che  a  trionfar  ti  guido" 
When  DeSoto  was  a>ked  l.y  Don  Balthazar  why  he  put  so  prom 
isingamotto  in  a  foreign  language,  which  was  known  to  so  few  of 
his  people. he  an-wen-d — "That  it  may  he  more  impressive  !"  The 
Adelentado  was  something  of  a  philosopher.  Hardly  was  the 
banner  seen  to  wave  than  some  one  was  ready  to  translate  for 
the  curious  multitude  the  mysterious  promise.  When  told  that 
the  gallant  cavalier  only  IWOIN  in  Italian  (hat  he  would  conduct 
them  toeon«me>t,  there  was  not  a  syllable  of  the  inscription  that 
not  gotten  instantly  l.y  heart,  and  that  night  it  WW  -ung  as 
the  burden  of  a  ivfrain,  by  a  native  rhymester,  who  was  content 
to  encourage  the  enterprise  upon  which—he  did  not  go  himself! 
\  v  to  the  pavilion  of  De  BotO,  on  the  right,  was  that  of  the 
Captain  (iem-ral.  Don  Poreall"  de  Figi'eroa,  his  banner  shining 
abo\  .Miing  with  a  sun  of  <r,,ld.  D..II  I'althaxar  de  Alvaro 

had  his  place  on  the  left  of  the  Adelantado.  wlmm  lu-  was  to:is- 
si>t  M  Ifarder  or  ma-tcr  of  t!ie  tonnic\ .  \Y.  m  ,  ,|  not  ramie  the 
places  of  th--  r.-^t.  nor  mumi-rate  the  g,..,d,  the  old.  and  the  in- 
fhientia]  Iamili»-s.  to  whom  eonspii-in.u<  seatfl  «  jned  for 

the  survi-y  «.f  ih,-  Bpectadi  .  '  -  '• .  -  \vithmit  the  l»arri.-r-.  we  ap- 
proach  tl,  :  pavilion^  of  the  knights  who  \\  cted 

to  engage  in  the  >e\vral  p.-  trma     II. -re  they  were  to 

drew  and  npiip  themaelTw;  hither  they  irere  to  reto     I 

\\h--n  w.-ari.'d,  and  take  refreshment     K;..-h  1  to  its 

owner,  and  great  care  was  taken  by  "  of  the    field    that 

ihry    \\ere    n-  -passed    up..n  by  li  'n    the  : 

"f  .  aeh  pavilion  %\as  a  '  .  rial, 

where  the  horse  or  horses  of  the  cavalier  were  kept  and  groomed. 


192  VASCONSKLOS. 

Sonic  of  the   knights,   as   the   \\v:ilthy    Sefior    Don    Poivallo  de 
Figueroa,  for  example,  had  a  score  of  horses;  but  the  greater 
number,  like  our  poor  knights   of  Portugal,  had  a   single  ste    1 
only.     But  he  was  generally  a  good  one,  of  great   strength   and 
endurance,  and  admirably  trained.      \Ve  pass,  in  review,  tin-  S8V- 
eral  pavilions  without  the  barriers,  of  the  knights  first  mentioi 
of  Nuno  de  Tobar,  of  Balthazar  de  Gallegos,  of  Juan  de  K 
lante,  of  Christopher  de  Spinola,  and  many  others,  each  of  which 
bears  the  especial  shield  and  insignia  of  its  proprietor.    More  sim 
ple  than  all  the  rest,  made  of  crimson  cotton,  were  the  tents  of 
the  Portuguese  brothers.     It  was  remarked  by  curious  obsen 
that  thc->e  teiiN  were  no  longer  pitched  side  by  side;  they    v. 
now  opposite  oteh  other,  one  on  the  right,  the  other  on  the  left 
of  the  centre.     The  banner  which  floated  above  the  pavilion  of 
Philip,  bore  the  image  of  a  ruined  castle,   from  which  a  falcon 
had  spivad  its  wings  and  was   away.     That  of  Andres  exhibited 
a  flight  of  meteors  in  a  stormy  sky.    Both  were  significant.    The 
shields  of  the  several  cavaliers  hung  each  at  the   entrance   of  his 
rent,  and  in  a  situation  iavorable  for  that  utteint,  or  stroke  of  the 
adversar  ;<!unt  or  sharp,  which  was  the  i-u.-tomary  mode  ..t 

.•oi.veyinin  the  challenge.  At  the  opening  of  the  pa 
were  transferred  to  conspicuous  places  within  tlic  area.  As  yet 
none  of  the  knights,  challengers,  or  defenders,  were  to  b.-  seen 
bv  the  multitude.  Sipiires,  leading  horses,  or  pages  loitering 
;ib,.u!  the  tents,  alone  were  visible.  It  remains  to  mention  only 
that  the  torri/,  or  pen  for  the  bulls,  was  constructed  beneath  the 
tiers  ..f  seats  a^i^ned  to  the  eominon  people.  From  this  a 
elose.l  passage,  ih--  <1<»«!-  njiening  right  upon  the  area,  <•<  ndin-trd 
directlv  t..  the  rini:.  In  'he  rear  of  the  torril,  [.avilions  W6TC 
raisrd  tor  \\\>  c///./.  .s  ;:ii.l  matttdorett  each 

class    M-|i;irat.-!v  :   and    these     pavil'mn-    riiga^-d     no    small 
rji-cc  of  the  mrioxif  v    i.-f  l!u-    people.       From    tlicM-    jiarlii-s    tlu-y 
!,,,!  r,:r  their  i  ,  tu!  .-njoyiu.  i  !   .      '!'!i.-y  knew  the  mo.>t 

t:iiiiou-  b^       n-Miie    ;        <'uba    <-<nilil    l»<M.-.t    of 

v%},.,   A.I.     u.ntiis    to  COIUpATC  with    n\'.\    «»|'   Andali. 


TI1K    QUINTAIN.  193 

her  own  mountains  who  could  administer  the    coup  dc  grace  U 

the  hull,  while  in  his  maddening    hounds,    and    never    exhibit  an 
Hut  of  these  ; 

roll,  trumpets  sound ; — a  wild  IMM  ienic  music 

from  tlu-  amphitheatre  ;   and  theerowds  rush  f«»r\\ 
their  phuvs.      Th"  Adelantado,  at  tin-    head  . 

cade  of  knights,   rides  into   tin-    ring.      Aireadv    have    the    noi»lu 
with  their  several  .ken  their  seats  upon    the   ele 

:y  which  lias    heen    a— i^iu'd    th'-m.      Tin-    jn-. >|.le    are 
.ing  uj)  the  humbler  places  aivund  the  harri.-r-s.      1  > 

•midst  fresh  bunts  of  mu  -'ate.     I)»»n 

Baltha.  bimself  below  him.    Both  carry  truncheons.    The 

i-ts  lie-in.      A  trooj*   of  \uiinjr    s<|iiire^ 
and  jiaiies  are  running  at  the  ring.      The    old    >.i!diers  au.l 

.  .iliers  loo  U  on  with  the    natural    il  -raus; 

curious  to  so..-  who  are  to  \n-  their  -  and  di-tine 

tion.     Hie  riding  is  \-er\  creditable;  some  in-tanees  j.ai-: 

•  •fill  anil  spirited  ;    though  <>r  t wo  hand-ome   vouth  are 

rolled  over  in  the  dust.    The  rii:g  i-  i>ornr  . .{}'  triuuij-hantlv  - 

.  and  this  anin-i.-me:  :  -r  a  while.    'I'hen  follows  :l  l,.Sv 

f.xperi  th,  who  rid,,  at  the  Quintain.      The  Quin 

tain  i>  a  !.t,  irmed  with  a  pole,  \\hieh  is   freely    painted. 

fn»«-  ito  -,-jy.  in 

r   llelmet.        TO 

them  unfairly,  i  :,lo\v  from  the    p«>!e    of  'h-    lijuiv, 

\sho  work-  upon  a  pivot,  and  is  wheeled    a! 

.      Th.-  stroke  of  hi-  j...le  leaves  its  mark  l.ehin-l  it.     It  not 

iently  tumbles  the  assailant  from  his  >t 1.    and    thus    iu. 

I  the  merriment  of  tin-  >j.eetat«»rs.      l\ 

da  liagnfmealat  th.-  end  of  his  |,,,1,..  whieh, 

inafai  red  lus  awkward  opponent  with  flour.  <>nthe 

k  paint  of  his  ,<, 

•  lud.-lil.l, 

of  his  ability,  and  t!, 

of  man\   of  lu-  \\hieh 

provok  laughter,  hut  did  not   n.  i«   the 

9 


194  VASCOXSKLOa 

spectators,  were  followed  by  a  very  pretty  display  of  archery.  In 
each  of  these  performances  there  were,  of  course,  champions  to 
be  distinguished;  prizes  were  accordingly  delivered,  and  the  in 
terest  of  the  spectators  was  agreeably  maintained  to  the,  close. 
But  these  were  the  mere  preliminaries,  the  opening  flourishes  of 
the  entertainment ;  pleasant  enough  while  they  lasted;  hut  not 
provocative,  nor  calculated  to  appeal  to  those  passions  which  lift 
a  people  to  their  feet,  and  force  them  to  cry  aloud  their  exulta 
tions,  or  their  fears.  The  runners  at  the  ring  and  Quintain,  and  the 
sports  of  the  archers,  were  simply  the  prologues  to  the  crowning 
entertainment  of  the  day, — this  was  the  Bull-right— the  sport  of 
sports  to  the  Spaniard,  one  in  which  all  classes  delight, — which 
appeals  equally  to  the  sympathies  and  tastes  of  nobles  and  com 
mons,  of  knights  and  ladies,  and  which,  strange  as  it  may  ap 
pear  to  us,  is  said  in  no  degree  to  impair  the  sweetness,  the  grace 
and  gentleness  of  nature  in  the  tender  sex. 

A  few  words  on  this  subject.  When  we  denounce  the  humanity 
of  a  people,  who  relish  such  an  amusement,  we  commit  the  simple 
error  of  placing  our  tastes  in  judgment  upon  theirs.  The.  truth 
is,  that  the  question  of  humanity  is  really  not  involved  at  all  in 
the  subject,  even  by  our  own  standards.  Our  opinion  is  simply 
superior  to  our  humanity;  and  while  society  with  us  maintains 
an  even  course,  we  are  thus  critical  in  respect  to  its  practices. 
Let  events  occur  which  disturb  the  habitual  course  of  things,  and 
our  opinion  gives  way  as  readily  to  our  passions  as  that  of  any 
people,  and  our  moral  sinks  as  low  as  our  humanity.  Alen  are 
very  much  the  same,  in  all  countries,  as  respects  the  appe;' 
and  we  have  in  our  exercises,  equivalent  brutalities  to  th<»e  <>f 
any  people  in  the  world.  A  boxing  match  will  appeal  to  the 
ta>trs  of  all  of  British  bl.n.d  as  readily  as  bull-fight  or  knife. 
match  to  th«»s-»  of  the  Spaniard  ;  and  a  rock-fight,  when  announced, 
draws  as  larije  a  crowd.  We  hunt  the  deer  with  a  spirit  quitf 
as  murderous  U  that  which  the  Andahisian  knows  when  he  .le 
Wends  into  the  bull-ring  with  lance  and  rapier  ;  and  we  course 
jnth  our  dogs  after  the  \\,\  ni-htly,  with  a  pleasure  that  grows 
*to  a  sort  of  madness,  in  proportion  to  the  prolongation  of  the 


COMPAItATIVK    HI MAMTY.  195 

tortun>u>   sp(,rt.     Opinion  look-  and   utters  solemn  hu 

inanities,  when  she  reads  of  (Jordon  runiming'x  horrihle  hutch 
ed   giratfe— nohle  creature* 

all,  harmie^  uhere   the,  md  —  hut  pa-ion>   and   appetites 

— our  /,'imun  nature.  \er  the  muni,  nm^  .nd  we 

pass,  with  keen  anxiety,  in    tlu-  foot-teps   <,f  ti  and 

.itatii.ii   tlu-  crack  of  his  rifle,  and  rii-li  in  \\ith  wild 
ii'»ld  lii*  victim,  i-iv  his  dn:. 

ike  tlu-  ii>h  hy  artful  j.n  rolong  liis 

"iir   ddi-hts    shall  l.c  prolonged  also;   and  we 
(>a11  tllr  •  '  l/aak,v  whilo  lu-  details  the 

t-ral  art*  hy  which  a  worm  may  he  Mladi-  to  WJML-!C,  and  a  trout 
may  In-  made  to  play,  in  pain.  Our  naturaliMs  a--ert  \vith\voii- 
drous  pains-taking,  thoir  own  human  ti/.  while  tlu-y  transfix  the 
livil  -  ':•  ;  and  opinion,  with  us,  sanctions  with  this  defini 

tion,  the  Indiscriminate  slaughter  of  innocent  son^-hird,  and  heau- 

tiful  fly.  and  W<  t.  and    curious  n-j  tile,       Vet  DOI 

these    BpOlta,  which  include  all  tin-  cruelties  which    In-long  to 
Sj.ai,i>h  hul!-ti-ht,  involve   tlie   nohler  con.litions  with  which  the 
Ilial:  'i  tlu-    latter.      In  the    hull  fi^ht  he   makes  his  man- 

nditioiis   ,,n  NXhi,  h  i,,.  v  e«,ufli,-t.     He 

perils  life  upon  hb  sport      Red  -laim  tlie  ri^ht  to  take 

:""1   t«'i'tiiiv   Ilie    life   of  the   animal    with.  g  the   he;i>t    a 

diance  in  the  miiiiiet.    Hie  inhumanity  in  all  th.-e  |.ra«-ti, , 

]>r{'''  ;>'    Btme;   hut    mu<-h  more  may  he  said  in  favor  ,,f 

hull-li.iilit    than  of  all    t!.  .  f  ;l,r  ,,j>j,,,>ing 

!';ll'!;  -iual    in    the  game.      Our    opinion,  in   hiief.  i-more 

humane  than  our  humanity.      The  Knu'lUhman  ami  the  Ameri< 
man  or  woman.  \\1.  a    hiill-liizhr.  disODI 

'.iperior  in  ^tr.-n^tl,  t«,  his  morals— that  his  vir: 
n°M    llllt    little    -\\ay  in  th.-  encounter  with   hi>  hhxxi      that    his 
"I1"'-'  i-tained  i  "Int'iou — that  hi-  o\\n  h 

1    wl'it    i  .ful    of  t!,  •       of  the  beast,  than   the 

•<  '  ~-     I  !••  h  and  the  B  Another;  and 

whether  he  hunts  more  virtuously  than  tlie  Spaniard,  mu^t  be  held 


196  VASCONSKLOS. 

very  doubtftil  where  he  does  not  hunt  half  so  bravely  or  at  so 

much  peril  to  himself. 

Our  purpose,  however,  in  these  remarks,  is  not  to  defend  the 
bull-fight  as  a  legitimate  or  proper  amusement  of  men.  We 
-imply  design  to  suggest  to  self-deception  a  little  modesty,  and 
!o  persuade  cant  to  reconsider  its  pretensions.  Humanity,  no 
where,  is  equal  to  the  encounter  with  temptation.  Opinion,  every  - 
where,  is  superior  to  humanity  ;  and  thus  it  is  that  the  morale  of 
a  community  will  be  superior  to  the  sentiment  in  every  individual 
composing  the  community.  Our  opinion  excuses  our  brutalities, 
while  it  lays  bare  those  of  another  nation.  So  long  as  this  is 
the  common  practice  of  nations,  so  long  shall  we  perpetuate  both. 
Let  us  look  to  what  is  intrinsic,  not  what  is  specious,  and  we 
shall,  perhaps,  discover  that  in  a  comparison  with  our  neighbor 
we  have  no  great  deal  to  boast — and  something,  possibly,  to  lose. 
But  enough. 

The  bull-fight,  as  we  have  said,  appeals  equally  to  all  condi 
tions,  and  to  both  sexes,  among  the  Spaniards.  When  the  sports 
of  the  ring  and  the  Quintain  were  over,  and  it  was  understood 
that  those  which  properly  belonged  to  the  amphitheatre  were  to 
begin,  thrre  wasa  great  increase  among  the  audience.  The  groups. 
all  of  them,  deserted  the  hills.  Scarce  a  vacant  seat  was  to  be 
found  in  all  the  three  high  tiers  of  scaffolding  which  surrounded 
the  harriers;  and  the  spectacle  became  \vr\  brilliant,  wild  and 
picturesque,  of  that  great  and  crowded  circle.  IJeauty  and 
knighthood  were  therein  all  their  glory;  while  the  multitude 
exhibited  every  variety  of  eo-tume  and  character.  The  scats 
o  dNpoM-d  that  the  entire  person  of  the  -pectator  in  every 
quarter  could  be  seen;  each  accordingly  was  clad  in  th.-  richest 
-  he  could  command.  Banner-  and  bannerets  were  waving; 
cavaliers  wore  their  gaudiest  colors;  jewels  Hashed  in  <\\c\\  near 
connection  with  bright  eyes  that  one  could  scarce  distinguish 
between  them;  and  ever  and  anon,  long  streaming  flourishes  of 
MUSIC,  passionate  phrensies  of  variously  endowed  instruments, 

-d  soft,  melancholy  touches,  at  frequent  pauses,  from  simpler 


Tii;  v  IK  WES.  197 

'•onspired  to  raise  the  emotions,   to  excite  the  sensibilities, 

to  le.-id  tlu-  hearer  iiiii.1  spectator  out  entirely  from  that  commoL 
world  which  swallowed  up  his  ordinary  life  in  one  dreary  mono 
tony. 

ul)e*i>tju  .'"  was  the  -.ingle  W0rd  given  out  by  Don  Balthazar  do 
Alvar-..  ,r,    or  mast.  -r  of    ceremonies—  equivalent   to 

'•clear  the   field"—  a  remove   all    obstructions  from   the  amphi 


Th.-iv  is  sufficient  reason  for  this  order,  which  is  always  an  un 

graeious   one  in  the  ears  ,,f  «  the  fancy,"  "the  swell  mob,"  who 

have  generally  taken  possession  of  the  ring.     They  leave  it  with 

reluctance,      I  Jut.   at    the   order  of  the  Corregidor,  the    splendid 

b'.dy  of  infantry  which  De  Soto  had  been  training  for  the  Fl,.ri- 

^arched    in.  to   the    sound  of  martial    music,  and. 

with    horizontal    lances,    swiftly    swept    the    circle.      Their  niove- 

wm    rapid;    but    the    intruders    rvtiivd    slowly,  simply 

elearin«:    th.«  barrii-rs.  an.iind  wlii.-h  they  continued  to  cling,  anx- 

nightbe»  he  minutest  Movements;  and 

to  take  surh  part  in  the  allair  thi-msdves  as  fortune  would  allow 

them  ;—  their  delight  being  f(,lH1d  in    beating   the    bull  with  then 

or    thrusting  at    him  with   iron-poin:  ..  frum    this 

atrenofament,  whenever  his  course   -hould  lu-int:  him  suf- 

:h    the    l-arriers.      This  duty  done,  the  inf. 

whom  they  had  driven  out.    But  ti. 

ttt    Their  places  were  soon  occupi.-.l 

h.v  !l  cadores,of  Chufaor 

1  lA///f/o;v.v.  ]  around 

»»,  showing  tb  ctators  ;—  the  PTcador,  «, 

'"  lh'  ;  w't»  1:"-  IT  short  cloaks,  th;.- 

:'    which   ari-    partly    laid  ..pen   and    left   loose. 

•>d   with    a   sort  of 
plate  iron;— 

*hit>  ""1  a  n.-if.  broad,  roond  hat.  indcd,  com- 

iiich  is    quite    fanciful    and    j.-ckrv-like. 
Not  less  so  is  that  of  m,  :  'ttnlos.  u 

more  costly,  if  not  more  imp..  >ing.     Tlieir  .ilk  v-  irnmed 


198  VASCONSELOS. 

with  a  profusion  of  ribands ;  brilliant  scarfs  fall  over  them ;  a 
silken  net-work  confines  the  hair,  in  place  of  which  the  fringes 
of  the  net  stream  down  the  shoulders.  Their  cloaks  are,  some 
of  blue,  and  others  of  scarlet.  In  two  parties  they  cross  the 
arena,  and  make  their  obeisance  to  the  Adelantado.  Thev  un- 
in  all — the  footmen — about  eighteen.  This  includes  a  couple  of 
tnatadores,  or  killers.  With  these  comes  a  mediespada,  or  hali- 
•wordsman,  who  is  not  often  wanted.  The  picadores,  or  lancers. 
three  in  number,  follow  them  on  horseback,  in  the  performance 
of  the  act  of  grace  before  the  representative  of  the  throne. 

The  thread ores  take  their  stations,  and  declare  them>elves  in 
readiness.  First,  you  behold  the  picadores.  These  plant  them 
selves  on  one  side  of  the  gate  from  whence  the  bull  is  to  emerge, 
and  at  a  distance  of  twenty -five  or  thirty  paces.  Those  on  foot, 
armed  with  their  short  javelins,  called  banderillos,  meant  to  goad 
and  torture  the  bull,  and  for  their  defence,  their  cloaks  of  blue 
and  scarlet,  take  their  places  also,  ready  to  assist  the  picadores, 
but  along  the  barriers.  A  trumpet  sounds;  an  Algua/il  ad 
vances,  and  receives  from  Don  Balthazar  the  key  of  the  torril, 
or  den  of  the  bull.  The  Adelantado  waves  his  gilded  truncheon  ; 
Don  Balthazar  waves  another ;  the  buglessound  ;  wild  shouts  from 
the  multitude  declare  the  acme  of  expectation  to  be  reached,  the 
gate  of  the  torril  is  thrown  open,  a  rush  is  heard  ;  and  u  El 
Moro" — "  the  Moor" — the  great  black  bull  of  the  Cuban  moun 
tains, — himself  a  mountainous  mass  of  bone  and  muscle,  darts 
headlong  upon  the  scene,  and  hushes  all  to  silence. 

He  stops  suddenly;  throwing  up  his  head.  He  has  pu^-d 
from  darkness  into  sudden  light.  The  unwonted  spectacle  for  a 
moment  confounds  him.  He  looks  up;  around;  stares  with 
dilating  eye  on  all  he  sees;  and  then  you  may  observe  his  tail 
.i:«l  wave,  to  and  fro,  the  hairs  starting  up,  like  those  upon 
his  neck,  and  presenting  a  ridgy  surface,  a  cre-lcd  mane,  show 
ing  his  excitement,  and  gradually  ri  in^  aimer.  As  yet,  he 
knows  not  where  to  look.  On  all  sides.  h«-  sees  so  much  !  But, 
a  tremendous  shout  from  the,  multitude  seems  to  decide  him; 
and  he  answers  it  with  a  wild  and  sudden  roar.  Then,  quick  as 


THE    BCLL    FKilU.  199 

a  flash,  lu;  charges  upon  the  nearest  picndor.      His  lance  is  read) 
to  receive  him.      He  is  repulsed  ;   lie  recoils.      Hut   not  far;  and 
with  a  fresh  l»ound,  lie  singles  out  his  second   enemy.      lie  also 
meets  him  with  a  cool  front,  and  a  piercing  weapon.     A  second 
time  his  neck  is  gored  ;  but   he  darts   upon   the   third   f.icu  . 
only  to  meet  a  froh  repulse!      He    ha-  felt    his  eiiem\  ;   and    is 
either  cowed  or  taught  by  his  experience.      Which  '.    We  shal; 
He    ivonis  from   all,  receding  slowly:  hi>   eyes  gleaming    \ 
with  tire;  his  neck  and  shoulders  streaming  with  blood  ;  his: 
to  the  ground,  as  if  with  a  heretofore-unknown  feeling  of  humility. 
But  do  you  think  that  he  is  humbled  ?     No  !     He  is  only  m 
— only  eontrarting  himself  to  spring;  gathering  his  muscles  into 
fold  ;  gathering   up  his  soul  for   newer  effort,  and   growing   mo 
mently  more  and  more  vicious  and  dangerou-  from  his  fort 
anee  !     Some  of  the  spectators  are  deceived  ;  u  Irilf  th  •  w..rld 
is  apt  to  judge  and  decide  from  first  impressions,  and  b< 
their  ign<>ran 

"A  cow!  a  cow!"  is  the  cry — "set  the  dogs  upon  him!" 
"  Ah,  !  que  !  no  vale  na  /"  "  The  bea-t  is  worth  nothing.  \  Ie  is 
a  cow  !" 

M  A  cow,  indeed  !"  cries  the  experienced  mountaineer,  who  bet 
ter  knows  the  Mgns  which  the  brute  exhibits.  ••  D'mp.irute !  — 
nonst-ns.-  !  Let  me  B66  the  man  who  will  milk  that  - 

He  is  light.     "El  Moro"  is  a  hero,  and   \\-\-  «  use  as  wdl  as 
-jth.       Hr  \v.\-ifelt  his  enemy;  }\>-  It. 'gins  to  know  him.      The 
picadnres   understand    him   better  than  the    mob.      They  note   his 
immense   frame,  -the    great    head, — the    enormous  breadth   of 
tirck, — the  huge  hiva-t.  like  a   rampart,  which  he  spreads  b- 
•n  ;   the  wonderful  compa  ,\  hoK-  ligure.    'llu  \ 

,h«-    lurking  devil    in    his  dilatin  -  ooking    up.   though   his 

norns  seem  directed  only  to  the  ground.     They  note  other  n 
\\hich    escap.-   the    poj.ii'ace.  an  1    they    prepare   th- •••  with 

."11  their  address,  for  a  <econd  a-sault.     Th  -ir  h^r-e^,  which  i 
heard   the  roar  of  the,  bull,  are  trembling  them,      T 

do  not  see  the   animal,  as   they  have  been  blin-b-d.  th     better  to 
make  tlie  m  submit  to  the  rein;   but  they  fee  I  their  terrors  the 


200  VASCONSELOS. 

more.  They  are  not  the  broken  hackneys  which  arc  employed 
in  the  cities  of  modern  Spain,  not  worth  their  forage  ; — but  brave 
.  of  fearless  foresters,  who  have  taken  up  the  business  of 
the  torero,  con  amore.  Sleek  of  skin,  large  of  frame,  slender  of 
limb,  with  small  heads,  arching  necks,  bright,  round,  dilating 
lean  fetlocks!  You  see  that  they  come  of  Arabian  stocks, 
and  are  not  unworthy  to  carry  fearless  riders  against  the  bull. 
They  tremble,  but  they  obey.  The  picador,  meanwhile,  carries 
his  well-chosen  lance  beneath  his  right  arm.  He  keeps  a  wary 
eye  upon  his  enemy.  He  knows  that  he  is  to  be  expected ; — 
that  he  must  come ; — that  the  struggle  has  not  well  begun,  and 
that  it  will  require  his  utmost  skill  to  conquer — and  escape! 
lie  does  nut  mistake  the  ominous  aspect  in  the  sign  of  Taurus! 
He  has  not  read  the  Zodiac  of  the  ampithcatre  in  vain.  These 
are  ail  old  stagers,  these  picadures.  Each  has  a  reputation  to 
lose.  They  are  known  by  name  among  'the  multitude,  and  these 
names  have  been  cried  aloud,  already,  by  more  than  a  hundred 
voices,  in  recognition  and  encouragement.  "Bravo!  I'epe !" 
'•Bravo!  little  Juan!"  "Bravo!  Francisco  Dias!"  "Now 
shall  we  see  which  of  you  all  will  pluck  la  devisa  from  the  neck 
of  El  Moro"  "La  devisa"  is  a  ribbon  about  the  bull's  neck, 
containing  the  name  of  his  breeder. 

"  \Vhich  of  you  has  a  mistress  with  eyes  worthy  of  a  death  ? 
Bravo!  good  fellows!  Let  us  see  !" 

The  allusion,  here,  is  to  the  practice  of  the  picador,  whose 
object  it  is  to  snatch  away  the  ribbon  as  a  trophy  for  his  sweet 
heart.  This  is  a  great  point  gained;  and  a  diliicult  one.  The 
Bull,  who  is  well  aware  of  the  honor  of  the  thing,  is,  of  ooune, 
always  careful  to  resent,  with  particular  malice,  every  such 
attempt  upon  the  badge  which  proves  his  honorable  breeding. 
It  r.-ijuiivs  rare  agility — which,  in  such  a  conflict,  implies  rare 
courage — to  achieve  the  object. 

But  the  crowd  is  clamorous.  They  are  impatient  at  the  delay 
of  "  El  Moro."  They  regard  him  as  too  lymphatic.  They 
shout  to  him  their  scorn,  and  some  endeavor  to  assail  him,  from 
behind  the  barriers,  with  strokes  of  the  chivata,  orjwrro,  sticki 


EL    MORO.  201 

ating  in  knobs,  with  which  every  rascal  of  the 
properly  armed  to  the  CM  OH.     Their  auxiliary  assaults,  in  fact. 

.    fair  j.art   of  the    exhibition. 
They  contribute  gteafy  I  .  timid  animal  to  th 

i«->p<Tati'>n.   \\-iirk    him    up   to  madness;    when,    no 
dreading  the  prick  <>f  the  lan.-e.  though  it  buries  itself  an 
inch   deep  in  the   lloh.  he   phr  liong   upon   his   <-i 

not   to  be  again  baffled    in   the   assault,   not    to  be   turned   a>ide; 
and  throwing  all  his  brute  t'>ive  into  one  coneentrated  effort,  puts 
all  their  arts  \],r  safety. 

[fl   a   bull    of  blood      II.-  is  a   bull   of  dfaw 
!!••  \\:i<  only  pau-fd    t«>    nu-ditati-  in  wliat   manner  • 
hi-  f.ir.v  M'jain-t  the  -kill  «»f  his  enemies,      He  has  c.in.-linh-d  his 
and,  with  a  terrible  >n<»rt,  wliii-h  ends  in  a  mar.  he  ru>hes 
ipon    the  pic'i<l<>,;\*.     They    m.-.-t    him    hand>c 
la  a  little  turiU'd  on    one   side,  their  :»prar- 

-  the  ii.-rk  and  >hnuldiTs  of  the  beast      This 
>*  i>'»  !  f  salutation.      It   is  apt  to  turn  oil"  ten  bulls 

all    remember,  with   k 

d,  by  \vhieh  the  herdsmen  have  initiated  them  in 
.      "  HI  Mm-,."  has  not  h'^t  hi--  sen^ibiji- 
'       '•!       '"  lia<  a   |  I  which 

tells  him  that    1;  ;    and    th  / 

••lily  to   i  .       .       |  ' 

'"p  t«»  ih.-  valiantly.     Skulking,  he 

A  ill  avail  him  n.'tlmrj.      II  •  ,  ill  not 

'•Iy.     The   -;.e;ir-p..int  i-  in  hi>   to 

and  -lioul- 

f»rw:jnl  ;    h.  ad  downward  ;    horns 
•hat  (.f  the  lion 
in  hi 

f  the 

mult  it;:  -un,  about 

kill,  and  sweep* 
out  of  the  track. 

9* 


202  VASCONSELOS. 

"  Bravo,  Pepe !"  cry  the  mob,  as  they  witness  this  dexterity  of 
the  first  of  the picadore* ;  but  the  bull  sweeps  on;  he  receives 
the  spear-point  of  the  second  of  his  foes  ;  but  his  own  irresistible 
ruth,  his  own  headlong  bulk,  prevents  his  recoil  now,  even  if  his 
spirit  quailed  beneath  the  wound:  but  it  does  not.  The  pi 
cador  tries  to  wheel  and  escape  his  assault,  but  too  late: — the 
horns  of  "El  Moro"  are  already  buried  in  the  Hank  of  tin 
hi'  rends  his  sides,  snaps  the  defensive  ribs  like  glass;  steed  and 
rider  roll  over  upon  the  plain,  the  latter  upon  the  off-side  of  the 
animal.  The  body  of  the  horse  constitutes  his  rampart  for  a 
nioii icnt.  It  is  a  fearful  moment.  Life  and  death  hang  on  it. 
An  awfid  hush  envelops  the  amphitheatre;  women  shriek, 
men  shout  and  swear;  heads  peer  over  each  other;  eyes  are 
starting  almost  from  their  soekets  ;  anxiety  and  appetite,  fear  and 
hope,  horror  and  delight,  are  in  wondrous  strife  in  the  multitu 
dinous  soul  of  the  assembly.  Every  body  looks  to  see  the  bull 
dash  down  upon  the  prostrate  horse  and  rider.  The  latter  lies 
elose  and  quiet,  expecting  the  assault :  his  hope  of  escape  is  in 
his  insignificance.  But  "El  Moro"  is  a  bull  of  magnanimity — a 
heroic  bull,  worthy  of  the  fierce  and  feari.-s  race  after  whom 
they  have  named  Mm.  Tie  disdains  to  touch  the  fallen  victim, 
irns  the  >ands  anew;  he  dashes  after  the  remaining  pica- 
dores,  who  course  round  the  amphitheatre,  dexterously  avoiding  his 
charge,  and  seeking  to  double  upon  and  wound  him  anew  at  e\  - 
ery  chanc.-.  Wonderful  is  the  skill  they  exhibit,  and  great  5-  the 
cheering  which  they  receive.  Both  bull  and  picador  receive  it 
equally;  nothing  can  be  more  fair  than  the  applause  ;  it  is  equally 
merited  :  and  gratitude  for  the  sport  alone  requires  that  merit 
should  be  equally  aeknowlcdg.-d.  M  Hr«v>  toro /"  "Bravo  I'lca- 
dor/"*  "  Bravo  Lit'l*  Juan!''  kl  l>r<iv<>  M»rof"  These  and  simi 
lar  crieoare  heard  from  all  quarter-  "f  th  •  ring. 

But  "El  Moro"1  N  not  content  t.  :••    with   others, 

— he  is  greedy  of  ylory.      Another  picad •  </•  is  overthrown  ;  horse 
and  man  roll  on  the    earth.      1.  in,   who    won    the   bravos 

lately,  is  scrambling  over  the   barriers,    partly   assisted   in  the 
effort  by  the  black  brows  of  the,  bull  himself — his  horns  iust  miss 


TiiK   lil'Ll.V    PROWI  203 

ing  tli«-  hauncho  of  the  horseman,  aii'l  grazing  the   l»arrirrs.      ll 
.      The  hurst;  «'f  th"  picador   fli.-s  wild,  with 

his  i-iit:  :Voiu  a  horrid  wound  in  the  belly.     Tin-  bull 

pursu.  :-\    bound  IK-  g»ads  tin-  blinded  and   terrified   ani 

mal  anew.      Both  are  covered    with    blood.      uA<ra/''    eric-  the 
.  " — tin-  "swell  mob''  from  tin-  corridor, — ".I/in//  i 
(/p  san^rt  '.  what  a  beauteous  body  of  Mood  !'' 

Thus  goring  as  he  goes,  himself  covered  with  gore,  snorting 
witli  fury,  his  r\vs  like  iv«l  lin-s,  flashing  in  flight,  his  month  full 
of  f'«a:n  and  blood,  his  head  tossing  wildly,  the  blood  and  lather 
covering  his  whole  body,  the  hull    keeps  on    his    way    of  terror, 
rij'l'ing  ami  ivnding  the  wounded  and  agoni/ed  hor-e.   until,  with 
a  tenitie  r««ar  and  etll.rt.  he  fairly  lifts  the  victim  from  the  earth, 
ila*h«-  liim  di»wn  IIJMHI  tlie  -ands.  and  strikes  his  hoofs  on  hi- 
:-nls  ovt-r  him  in  juir-uit  <>\'  the  remaining  jiicador. 
There  is  ]\)  j.arh-\  ing  with  so  lu-a  .  ;  ;-ut»-  as  that.    There 

is  no  liallliiig  him.      He   i>   n»t  to  In-  «i. -hided  of  his  proper  juvv. 
1         !;i»t  the  J'ool  to    put  nose  to    th-    ground,  a-  ordinarv  bulls 

i-ting    hi->    t'ury    upon   the    nn-mies   he    ha--    a  I  read  \ 
tlirowii.    The  fallen  lior-e  ur  liin-st-uiari  attracts  n,,!K  of  his  atten 
tion.      Efe  8668  and  seeks   him   oiil\   \\-\\»   is  on    toot,   in    mution; 
an.l   lie   gi\e-    the    surviving  :    •,  . 

bull  so  determined.  a;id  BO  sensible.  Il«-  is  not  merdv  a  hero, 
he  is  a  grin-nil  ;  and  the  audit-nee  is  diilv  sensible  of  his  wonder 
ful  merits.  Th  rjf  hand.  -  L^ny  li  <e 

El  Aforo  /''  he  whom  the\   ha.  i   «.hal!  die  th  v 

"Bravo  tore!   Bravo  Moor !"  T;  ,-ir  hands  aloft; 

they  tling  up  th.-ir  c.ip- .  r   their  ap- 

.!uM  th--  barri.  : 
apphii:  •••  -till  hetter  to   dc-erve  it.      II.-    givea    the 

Dl^nf     «-f    delay.      I  b    :.    up  >n    him.      Th.- 

doubles  with  WODdn  l\    Pity,    and  »-lu  !  k;    and  ht 

M.       Hut   the    bull     : 

II     \\  1 , 

ati"ther  IMUIII.I,    the  />jr    but    gra/v-.    him;    tho 

darts  away   but  th«-  hul  ,  and  rends  him 


204  VASCONSELOS. 

— a  terrible  gash — in  the  rear.  Bleeding  and  torn,  the  steed 
rs  forward,  when  a  new  thrust  sends  him  over,  and  the  rider 
flings  himself  off  on  the  opposite  side,  to  escape  the  inveterate 
assailant.  It  is  a  moment  of  extreme  peril  ;  every  soul  is  hushed 
almost  to  sti!l'7ig  in  the  assembly ;  and  now  the  chulus  with  their 
gaudy  cloaks  come  fluttering  upon  the  scene.  They  are  to  divert 
the  bull  from  his  victim.  They  glide  between,  almost  like  shapes 
of  air.  The  red  shawls  flare  before  the  eyea  <>f  Kl  Moro.  lint 
El  Moro  is  none  of  your  common  bulls.  He  is  not  to  be  per 
suaded  that  the  shawl  can  work  him  injury.  lie  has  no  vulgar 
bull-hostility  to  crimson.  He  darts  at  the  C//U/G,  and  not  his  shawl. 
The  bamlerillo  flies — a  little  dart,  ornamented  with  colored  and 
gilded  paper — and  sticks  into  his  neck.  Another  is  planted  di 
rectly  opposite,  buried  deeply  in  the  flesh.  A  third,  a  fourth, 
until  the  beast  is  fairly  covered  with  these  proofs  of  the  dexter 
ity  of  his  new  assailants,  who  trip  along  like  dancing-masters 
about  the  scene ;  relying  upon  their  wonderful  agility  to  dart 
aside  from  his  wild  and  passionate  plunges.  They  scatter  at  his 
approach.  He  drives  them  to  the  barriers,  over  which  the  res 
cued  picador  has  just  clambered  with  a  slimy  of  pain  and  labor, 
that  proves  he  has  not  gone  through  the  fray  unseatlu-d.  Tin-re 
is  a  rent  in  his  leathern  breeches  ;  there  is  an  exceedingly  .-ore  place 
beneath  it.  But  the  chulos  are  dispersed, — El  Moro  remains  the 
lord  of  the  arena,  lie  >tamps  as  if  for  a  new  enemy  ;  li 
as  if  in  triumph  !  He.  darts,  seeing  no  moving  object,  at  those 
which  lie  still  or  writhing  upon  the  plain.  lie  tramples  tin-  gay 
mantles;  he  rends  the  prostrate  and  still  struggling  ln>r>e.  He 
is  impatient  that  they  offer  no  resistance;  for  the  g'-ads  -till  tear 
his  neck  and  -ides,  and  the  wounds  are  a  reasele>s  torture.  The 
amphitheatre  rings  with  applauses  of  his  prowess;  but  this  Mib- 
..nd  the  appetite  of  the  multitude  craves  a  renewal  of  the 
excitement. 

"Caballosf  Caballos   al   torof"   U  the   cry.      More   hor.-e- are 
required  for  the  b-,11.      Ne\s  « -liampioiiN  appear  upon    tli.- 
and  the  battle  is  renewed.      I  Jut  we    mu>t   not  enter    nmv    upon 
details;  "El  Moro"  maintain*  hi>  reputation.     Another  h 


THK    MATAI  205 

slain — another  wounded — two  riders  ;uv  hurt  with  broken  ribs, 
and  the  chains  again  -catter  themselves  over  the  area  f>r  the  res 
cue  of  the  third.  •'•  Kl  M«.ro"  them  in  turn:  l.ut  he  in 
exhausted  by  his  victories.  Covered  with  wound 

::tre.  of  the  ring.      His  ,  filmy,    his    head   droops, 

his  tail — but  he  is  thus  far  the  conqueror,  and  there  is  a  moment 
of  silent  admiration  in   tribute    to   his   prowc--.      lint    the    >iuri:s 
show  that  he  can  make  no  more  spurt,     lie  ha-  done  all  that  bull 
could  do  for  the  popular  holiday;  and  nothing  remain-  but   to 
administer  the  COHJ>  dc  gr>:ce.  and  bring  on    his   successors.      The 
trumpet  sounds.      The  matador — the  killer — appears  alone  uj-'ii 
the  scene.      On  hi-  appearanee,  \\ith  lifted  cap.  lieirnkoshi 
siin-e  to  the  Adelantado.     In  his  right  hand  he  holds  a 
— a  beautiful  rapier,  of  the  be-t  temper — in  his  left  hand  he  waves 
a  little  red   flag,  not    much  larger  than  a  handkerehief,  called  th-- 

muleta.     II.  receive*  the  permission  which  he   reijuhv-.     ••  K! 

Moro's"   death-warrant  is  iriven  out. 

The  matador   e\hibit>t:.  .  |H,>turo-ma-ter,  with   all 

the  coolnes-  of  the   exeoiltkmer,      He   turns  toward-  the  victim. 

•ad advances  slowly.     He  is  pale;  looks  anxk>i  '  I.Mitly 

\\ary.      Well  he  may  I.e.      Such  an  adversary,  -howii .. 

cunning  as  cou:  >t  often  to  be  met    Th.  'stops,' 

and  with  all  th-  ..f  which  he  is  capable.  -ur\ 

f  character,  and    bulls    have  a  character    that  iv- 
0  ha-  a  eh  -take. 

•ii'iwned    I  ibaOS,       He  has   >!ain  his 

hundred-,  and  he  mu-t  >how  him-elf  w«n-shy  of  his  renown.      Hi- 
icnt-  \vere  at  OO06    L'raccful    and  decided;  aid    ;ii-    thruMs 
' 

Snllletillie.-.  the  m.i>t.  T  tail-,  and    I'ico  \S: 

duel    which   he   i-  al  |,t.       '1'lie    hull   is  .-till    ,! 

lly.       He    ha-    lost    hi 
ll'-  mail...     Pico  has  no  shield,  nothing  bat   th.  >,d  hi-, 
b'-autifi!   rapier.     Hi-  ball  di       of     Ik,  Mtu  and   rlbbi          i 

diit\    U)  l-e  don.-;  bu'   tl 
^a1"1"  :  I  :Mand-  hi1 


206  VASCONSKLOS. 

retrains  hiinself;  a  thousand  »-ycs  are  upon  him ;  he  knows  it, 
but  he  s^es  nothing  but  the  eyes  of  the  bull.  Their  tame,  filmy 
expression  does  not  deceive  him.  He  fancies  that  "El  Moro" 
understands  the  whole  proceeding,  what  is  to  be  done,  and  what 
is  to  be  feared  ;  and  that  he  is  preparing  himself  with  more  than 
bull  subtlety,  to  make  a  fearful  fight  of  it.  It  must  be  subtlety 
now,  opposed  to  subtlety  ;— the  wisdom  of  the  man  to  the  excit 
ed  instincts  of  the  beast.  The  expectation  is,  that  the  bull  will 
run  at  the  red  flag;  when  the  matador  will  receive  him  at  the 
point  of  the  weapon,  which  pierces  him  betwe.en  the  shoulder  and 
the  bone  blade.  If  the  bull  has  much  spirit  left,  he  will  do  this. 
The  presumption  is,  if  he  will  not,  that  he  succumbs  to  his  fate — 
that  his  energies  are  exhausted. 

Pico  waves  his  muleta  in  front  of  the  animal.  "El  Moro" 
makes  a  single  eharge,  but  recoils — stops  short,  and  stands  with 
head  down,  as  if  in  waiting.  A  shout  of  contempt,  from  the 
"fancy,"  assails  him  for  this  ignoble  conduct.  It  encourages  Pi- 
eo.  He  advances,  waves  the  flag  anew;  again  the  bull  charges; 
the  steel  flashes,  quick  as  lightning; — strikes; — strikes; — all  see; — 
but  it  is  an  awkward  stroke!  Pico's  nerves  have  been  troubled. 
The  steel  strikes  the  bone  ; — it  flies  from  the  hand  of  the  matador ; 
and,  with  a  roar,  the  recovering  bull  is  upon  him,  with  a  dreadful 
griding  sweep.  The  brave  fellow  darts  aside,  but  not  unhurt. 
•aggers. — he  makes  for  the  barriers:  the  cunning  "El 
Moro,"  with  brightening  eye,  surges  after  him.  The  suspense  is 
awful ;  the  women  scream ;  the  men  shout;  the  matador  staggera 
forward  to  the  barriers;  falls,  without  catching  them;  and,  but  a 
moment  remains  for  escape  !  a  terrible  anxiety  prevails.  In  that 
moment,  a  gigantic  form  leaps  over  the  barriers  from  the  corri 
dor,  lie  is  dark  like  the  red  man.  lie  is  of  that  race,  mixed 
with  the  white  and  the  negro,— a  most  unnatural  and  atrocious 
combination.  Hut  what  he  is,  no  one  as  yet  can  distingui-h. 
They  see  nothing  clearly.  They  only  know  that  he  stands  be- 
twe<  n  the  fallen  Pico  and  the  charging  El  Moro.  They  see  a. 
common  red  kerchief  wav;ng  in  one  hand.  They  see  not 
the  short,  sharp  knife  in  the  other.  They  see,  however,  that  he 


TIIK    LM)    UK    El.    MUKO.  207 

has  1  in  diverting  the  wrath  of  the  Lull,  from    the    : 

trate  matador,  to  himself.  A  moment  more,  and  the  plunging 
animal  >tand>  where  the  challenged.  He  has  darted 

a>ide  like  an  arrow,  leaving  hi-  kerchief  upon  the  horns  of  the 
bull,  and  waving  before  hi  i'he  animal  shakes  his  head, 

dJid  thru>t-  it  down.      In  that   moment  th  .    advam, 

lently.  A  Hash  i>  seen  ;  and  the  machete  la  ti.tailv  buried  be- 
tw.-en  th«-  shoulder^  ..f  HI  More.  A  h<>ar>e  sound  issues  from 
the  n.MriU  of  the  mighty  bea»t,  and  he  sinks  forward,  the  life 
P":<  pot  wliere  he  had  •' nbly,  but  the 

instant  IM  : 

Thet-n.wd  is  relieved     They  >l,0ut  their  gratifieat ion,  and  the 

•••11  mob"  with.. ut  are  particularly  rejoiced  with  the  e.\«|ui-ite 

feat  (.farms  j.erfnrine.l  by  one  from  am<.n<:  themselves.    Scarcely 

wa-  th«-  deed  don  de  Alvaro,  in 

a  whi-pn-  to  the  -.-r-eant  of  the  guard,  said, — 

that  man  who  slew  the  bull  betaken  into   eustody.     Let 

it  !>«•  d.. ne  secretij)  tiol  t..  cause  o.nnVion.     Bet  an 

ujM.n    hi-    footsteps,  and  when    ti.  'ajl  hiln 

up.  Me  i-  a  -lave — an  outlaw—tin-  notorious  outlaw,  Mateo 
Morillo— slave  ,,f  th.-  estate  of  my  ni.-ee.  He  has  1,,-en  in  tho 
mountalnfl  for  two  ya;  ,.  him.  There 

;  r.-wanl  to  br  ^of  }.y  his  oaptivitv  !  " 

Th.-  sergeant  promised  ob.-dience  ;  but  when  he  looked  into  the 
amphitheatre,  the  mai  If orfllo,  had  disappeared  among 

th.-  throng      II-         ight  for  him  that  day  in  vain. 

-For  much  of  tin-  detail  in  \\\\<  i-h;ipt-r  respecting  the  sports  of 
th.-  Sp:l,,i>!i  amphith.alrc.  I  am  in.lrl.u-.l  to  the  volunu-s  of  Roflcoe,  Ford, 
and  the  highly  int.  r  D  j,y  ou^.  own' 

countryman.  Mr   S.  T.  Wallis.  of  Maryland. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

The  knight  of  the  Redcrosse,  when  him  he  cpide, 

Spurring  so  hole  witn  rage  dispiteous, 
'Gan  fairely  couch  his  spt-are,  and  toward*  ride  : 

Soone  meete  they  both,  both  fell  and  furious, 
That,  daunted  with  their  forces  hideous, 

Their  steeds  doe  slugger,  and  amazed  stand  ; 
And  eke  themselves,  too  rudely  rigorous, 

Astonied  with  the  stroke  of  their  owne  hand, 
Doe  backe  rebutte,  und  each  to  other  yealdeth  land." 

THE  day's  sports  were  by  no  means  ended  with  the  death  of 
"  El  Moro."  Other  bulls  were  brought  into  the  ring,  and  sev 
eral  fierce  fights  followed,  marked  by  sundry  vicissitudes  and 
casualties.  No  less  than  six  bulls  perished  before  the  day  was 
over ;  and  twice  this  number  of  horses  were  more  or  less  seri 
ously  hurt.  Three  were  killed  outright.  As  many  of  the 
toreadores  went  off — were  carried  off,  rather — with  shattered  ribs; 
so  that,  all  things  considered,  the  sports  were  highly  satisfactory 
to  the  people.  That  night  there  was  merry-making  in  all  <m:ir 
ters  of  the  city.  The  houses  everywhere  were  thrown  open  for 
the  reception  of  guests.  The  country  cousins  were  made  wel 
come.  The  voluptuous  dances  of  the  Spaniard  succeeded  to  the 
feast,  and  were  prolonged  through  the  night.  Wild  and  smii- 
mental  music  burst  from  balcony  and  verandah,  and  the  guitar 
tinkled  sweetly  in  the  groves  of  lime  and  orange.  Olivia  <le 
Alvaro  spent  the  night  in  the  palace  of  the  Adclantado,  who 
entertained  a  large  party.  But  Philip  de  Vasoonaelos,  though 
invited,  was  not  among  the  guests.  Where  is  he  1  Why  is  he 
not  present?  These  were  the  questions  which  Olivia  uncon 
sciously  asked  herself.  Andre-,  his  In-other,  was  there;  stern 
and  gloomy;  but  he  did  not  approach  her.  She  danced  and  sang 


THE   SECOND    DAY'S   SPORTS.  209 

at  the  entreaty,  or  rather  the  command,  of  the  Lady  Isabella; 
but  her  heart  was  neither  with  the  inn-ic  nor  the  dance.  She 
went  through  the  performances  mechanically,  sick  at  soul,  and 
longing  to  be  away  out  of  the  painful  glare  of  lighU  and  com 
pany,  and  buried  in  -the  deep  shadows  of  her  domestic  groves. 
We  have  no  scene  to  exhibit,  no  picture  to  portray  of  the  per- 
son  -  or  events  of  this  night.  We  hurry  to  the  performances  of 
the  day  following,  which  more  immediately  concern  our  pro- 
gree*. 

The  spectacle  of  the  second  day  promised  to  exceed  the  first, 
in  it-  splendor  and  state,  if  not  in  its  attractions.  It  is  doubtful, 
indeed,  if  any  exhibition,  short  of  battle  itself,  could,  in  that  day, 
furnish  attractions  to  the  Spanish  people  to  compare  with  those 
of  the  bull-fight.  This  was  a  strife  of  certain  danger  and  fre- 
(jiieiil  loss  of  life.  There  must  be  blood-lied  ;  terrible  wounds, 
great  suffering,  prolonged  agonies,  and  momently  increasing  ex- 
lit.  In  proportion  to  the  anxiety,  the  peril,  the  blood  and 
a-.:ony,  were  the  joys  of  the  spectacle.  But  the  tournament  was 
only  a  picture  of  strife;  gentle  pa  arms  and  joyous,  as 

the  heralds  described  it;  and,  though  full  of  noble  dispi;, 

ngth,  skill   and  admirable   horseman-hip. 

failed,  usually,  to  provoke  those  intense  anxieties  which  charac- 
tcri/ed  the  conflicts  of  the  hull  with  fcfa  But  bulls 

'.aughtered   every  day.      The    operation  is  an   ex- 
pensive  one.     i'he   owners  of  line  h.,r-  \ «  ry  often  wish 

to  peril  their  ribs  in  •  ;   ;m,l  eyeo  the  lorry  hack  has  his 

value,  to  b  the  first  (li^h  of  excitement  U          T. 

'Hie  bull-fiu!:!.  though  the  irivat  pas-ion  of  the  Spaniard-,  is  not. 
for  the-  i,  an  ailair  of  fiv.juent  0 

•  M-nt  was  held  quite  sufficient  for  reasonable  p. 
and    the   "v,\v!l    m<.  '!y  compelled    to    put   up 

with  li.  :u)  inferi-  [fl  of  ehi\ 

With   the  first   flashings  of  the    morning  sunlight  upon  bright 
shield  and  glittering  lamv  \  wild,  prolonged  and  inspirit 

ing  burst  of  music  issued  from  :he  am;  hitheatre,  ann-Minci- 
resumption  of  the   s  \  thousand    b xom-  thrilled   with 


210  VASCCLNrfELOS. 

delight,  and  a  thousand  voices  hailed  the  signal  with  triumphant 
shouts.  The  sounds  and  clamors  from  the  spacious  area  were 
echoed  back  from  all  the  little  hills  around.  They  were  all  in 
motion  at  the  music,  and  clapping  their  hands  with  joy.  Soon, 
the  fierce  bray  of  the  trumpet  was  heard  mingling  wildly  with 
sweeter  music.  Anon  came  the  roll  of  the  drum ;  and  steeds 
neighed,  and  squires  shouted,  and  the  mountain  peasant  beiran 
to  sing,  in  his  exulting  unconsciousness,  the  rude  ballads  of  his 
distant  forests.  There  was  shouting  and  clamor  on  every  side; 
and  the  rushing  of  crowds,  and  the  din  of  conflicting  sounds, 
might  have  led  the  unadvised  spectator  to  suppose  that  chaos 
had  come  again,  so  extreme  /as  the  confusion.  But  in  all  this 
confusion  the  truncheon  of  command  prevailed.  So  well  had 
everything  been  organized  by  Don  Baltha/ar  <le  Alvaro,  and  so 
native  were  such  exercises  to  the  multitude,  that  no  conflict  or 
disorder  followed,  where  all  things  appeared  to  promise  nothing 
less.  The  people  knew  their  places;  the,  ofliciais  their  busine  — . 
The  heralds,  and  pursuivants,  and  algua/ils  were  all  in  sufficient 
number  and  sufliciently  active.  But,  where  the  popular  consent 
is  with  the  given  purpose,  it  is  surprising  how  multitudes  work 
together  to  the  common  end.  The  officers  skirted  the  barriers 
within  as  well  as  without,  and  kept  them  free  from  encroach- 
ment  ;  and,  gradually,  the  thrones,  preying  forward  like  crowd 
ing  billows  of  thc>  sea,  subsided  calmly  into  their  places  along 
the  galleries.  The  seats  were  filled  as  if  by  magic*  The  family 
groups,  or  special  parties,  carl;  unobstructed  in  its  wMi  to  keep 
'her,  formed  so  many  little  domestic  circles  along  the  im- 
meiKely  crowded  tiers;  and  the  hum  and  bu/x  <>f  conversation, 
free  and  unembarrassed  as  in  private  homes,  went  on.  The 
merry  laugh,  and  the  smart  je>t.  and  the  careless  comment,  \\ 
uttered  aloud,  as  if  none  but  friendly  hearers  were  at  hand  to 
listen.  It  is  a  common  error  that  the  Spaniard  is  inflexible  as 
well  as  proud.  This  is  only  true  of  a  high  state  of  convention 
in  the  old  communities.  In  the  new  world,  where  all  were 
adventurers,  even  nobility  threw  off  some  of  its  reserves,  and 
accommodated  itself  to  a  more  democratic  condition  of  tilings ; — 


TIIK    si' KIT  A  TORS.  211 

a  result,  indeed,  inevitable  from  the  necessities  of  the  region.  But 
to  our  progress. 

•n!y.  the  liati-l-;  s'ruck    up  the    national  air,  and  thi 
the  signal  (or  the  approach  and    ciitraiiee  of  the  Adelantado,  the 
noble   knights   and    ladies   who   immediately    attended    him   ami 
his  lovely  wife,  and  >Uch  fa vorit es  a->  were  specially  invited  to  the 
more  elevated  platform  which  «  Qed    to   the    represents, 

tive  of  majesty.  This  plalfl.rm.  it  may  be  well  to  state.  though 
elevated  above  the  lower  ranges  of  the  scats  assigned  to  the  mill- 
titude,  NN  -newhat  nearer  to  the  dreus.  It  was  immedi- 

ately  al.ove  the  corridor,  which,  in  all  other  parN  of  the  area, 
wa-  uncovered.  Indeed,  it  seem-d  to  hang  almost  over  th. 
and  was  not  so  high  hut  that  it  might  he  easily  touched  ],\  ;l 
Ian. v  in  the  hands  of  a  knight  on  horst/hark.  Along  this  platform, 
and  in  the  foreground,  on  well  and  richly  cushioned  seats,  t  he 
ladie,  were  -  -upying  j.ivf.-rivd  |. laces  ;  the  gallants  in 

ndance   taking  position    in    the    rear.      In    the   centre  of  this 
t;'n'"'r   '  1  >on  P.altha/.ar  de    Alvaro,  acting  a>  warder  ; 

and    imnu-diat.-ly  hehind,  hut  on  a  rfo 

the   Adelantodo  and   his  lady 

\\  ,fh  the  entrance  of  the  two  last,  the  virus  l.eeame  wilder  than 
the  music,  and  DeSoto  bowed  impressively  and  unteefullv  to 

the  popular  applause.  His  noble  form  and  princely  carriage,  the 
splendor  of  his  costume,  and  a  prop  ;  to  the  imm< 

amount  of  patronage  which  he  had  brought    to    the   island,  i; 
him  a  wonderful  favorite.      Nor  washi^  noble  wife 
had  virtues,  indeed,  superior  to  his.  though  ,,f  a  tan  showy  char 
acter;   and  her  penooal  beauty,  her  noblr  carriage,  the    ri'ch- 
and  ex.jui^ite  ta-te  of  he,-  dress,  th-  equal  grace  and  d '. 
hrr  !  to   make   her  an   object  of  like  and  equal  at- 

<m  with  her  lord.      They  to., k  tl,  :m,l  the  , 

followed   i,y  those  u!  tpanied   them.     When   • 

places  wen  all  filled,  th-  spectacle  wai  one  of  wonderful  bril. 

lianey  and    b-auty.      Tl  i(.t(.,l    a,  . 

•  of  the  P.TSOTK  of  those  \\1  -if,  and  tl. 

were  all  naturally  solicitous   to   appear   in    their  richest   habiu. 


212  VASCONSELOS. 

Olivia  de  Alvaro  occupied  one  of  these  foremost  seats,  near  hei 
mcle,  and  a  little  below,  but  quite  close  to,  the  Lady  Isabella. 
She  too  was  splendidly  habited  ;  but  she  was  perhaps  the  least 
conscious  of  the  fact  of  all  in  that  assembly.  She  had  made 
her  toilet  with  little  heart  for  it,  and  little  heed  to  appearances. 
Her  thoughts  were  of  the  saddest ;  and  her  'face  now  was  pale 
as  death.  There  was  a  brightness,  however,  in  her  eye,  of  sin 
gular  wildness,  and  occasionally  it  flashed  out  with  a  vivid  and 
peculiar  intelligence.  But  she  seldom  trusted  herself  to  ga/c 
about  the  amphitheatre.  She  seemed  to  dread  the  encounter 
with  other  eyes.  Beside  her  sate  the  frail,  fair  beauty,  the  wife 
of  Nuno  de  Tobar,  whose  little  tongue  kept  up  a  surprising  dis 
charge  of  small  arms,  without  intermission.  Her  supply  of 
missiles  seemed  inexhaustible,  and  as  they  were  mostly  .address,-,  1 
to  the  earsof  Olivia,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  wonder  if  she  had  nothing 
to  say  in  return.  The  lack  of  opportunity,  indeed,  was  rather 
grateful  than  otherwise.  It  saved  her  from  all  necessity  of  find 
ing  apologies  for  her  taciturnity.  Behind  Olivia  stood  the  pro 
vincial  courtier,  Don  Augustin  de  Sinolar,  redolent  of  perfume, 
and  diffuse  and  gay  in  silks  and  glitter.  There  were  other  gal 
lants  in  waiting :  but  we  must  not  stop  to  enumerate.  The 
anxiety  of  the  multitude  has  brought  them  to  that  hush  of  ex 
pectation  which,  even  more  than  military  authority,  is  the  best 
security  for  order.  The  Adelantado,  like  every  good  actor,  well 
understood  the  impropriety  of  keeping  the  stage  waiting.  He 
rose  gracefully  and  waved  his  truncheon.  At  the  signal,  a  sud 
den  blare  from  the  trumpets,  at  the  entrance,  quickened  the  pul 
sation  in  every  bosom.  The  blast  was  answered  from  a  dozen 
quarters  all  around,  the  response  from  the  tents  of  the  challengers 
to  the  signal  which  required  them  to  appear.  But  a  few  mo 
ments  more  elapsed  when  the  trumpets  within  and  without 
pealed  in  unison;  a  lively  and  prolonged  strain  of  wild  and 
chrrrfnl  music;  and  then  was  heard  'he  h^avy  trampings  of  ap 
proaching  hor-c. 

"  They  come  !  They  come!"  was  the   involuntary  cry  from  a 
thousand  lately  stifled  voices.     Then  the  heralds  and  pursuivants 


VASCO    I)K    PORCALLOS.  213 

slowly  cantered  into  the  lists,  skirting  closely  the  barriers ;  and 
when  expectation  was  at  the  highest,  the  challengers,  six  in  num 
ber,  made  their  appearance.  And,  truth  to  speak,  they  showed 
themselves  right  comely  chevaliers  to  the  eye,  and  seemed  well 
able  to  carry  themselves  bravely  and  keep  manfully  the  field. 
They  were  headed,  as  was  fitting,  by  the  Lieutenant  General  of 
the  army,  the  stout  and  wealthy  Hidalgo,  Don  Vasco  Porcallos 
de  Figueroa.  This  cavalier,  whatever  may  have  been  his  per 
sonal  merits,  was  perhaps  rather  more  indebted  to  his  wealth, 
for  the  distinction  he  enjoyed,  than  to  his  genius  as  a  soldier. 
We  do  not  know  that,  up  to  this  period,  he  had  ever  made  any 
remarkable  figure  in  arms.  He  certainly  had,  thus  far,  taken  no 
such  place  in  the  popular  imagination  as  was  assigned  to  sundry 
of  their  famous  men,  who  had  proved  even  unfortunate — such  as 
Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  and  many  others.  But  wealth,  with  frequent 
largesses,  a  right  generous  spirit,  and  a  gracious  carriage,  will 
work  wonders  towards  achieving  temporary  distinction.  The 
reader  may  not  have  forgotten  the  policy  of  the  Adelantado,  already 
indicated,  by  which  he  was  moved  to  depose  the  amorous  knight, 
Nuno  de  Tobar,  from  the  office  which  he  subsequently  conferred 
on  Vasco  de  Porcallos.  We  are  not  prepared  to  say  that  he  re 
joiced  in  the  pretext  which  enabled  him  to  do  so.  But,  it  was 
one  certainly  which  he  did  not  greatly  regret.  He  was  not  dis- 
taed  at  having  the  means  wherewith  to  buy  the  favors  of  the 
rich  cavalier.  And  Vasco  Porcallo.s  did  not  defraud  expectation. 
II.-  did  not  withhold  his  treasure-,  from  the  expedition  to  Florida. 
Ifis  castellanos  were  freely  rendered  to  th  f  his  superior, 

with  whose  ambitious  views  no  man  of  the  army  seemed  so 
deeply  to  sympathi/c.  Vasco  Porcallos  was  s.-i/ed  with  a  new 
born  desire  for  fame,  without  foregoing  a  jot  of  his  old  pa 
for  acquisition.  !!>•  was  anxious  to  be  known,  hereafter,  as  one 
of  tin-  conquerors  in  Florida;  and.  at  tin-  sarn«'  time.  he  made 
sundry  shrewd  calculations  of  the  profit  which  would  en-ne 
from  his  landed  estates  in  Cuba,  by  enncentratini;  up->n  them 
the  labor  of  the  Apalachian  savages  whom  he  expected  to 
make  captive  in  his  progress  The  tw<>  paeons,  glory  and 


214  VASCONSELOS. 

gain,  strove  equally  together  in  his  bosoin  ;  and,  with  such  rare 
harmony,  that  neither  could  be  said  to  be,  at  any  time,  in  the  as 
cendant.  Vasco  Porcallos  was  of  a  brave  temper ;  and,  though 
never  distinguished  in  war,  as  a  captain,  had  yet  enjoyed  consid 
erable  experience  in  the  new  world's  conquests.  Had  he  been 
a  few  years  younger,  he  might  still  have  hoped  great  things  from 
his  gallant  spirit  and  generous  ambition.  But  our  cavalier  was 
on  the  wrong  side  of  fifty,  and  few  soldiers  have  ever  acquired 
reputation,  or  achieved  successes  in  foreign  invasion,  after  they 
have  passed  the  meridian  line  of  life.  It  may  be  reasonably 
doubted,  if  his  prudence  was  at  all  conspicuous  in  his  engaging 
in  a  long  and  hazardous  expedition.  That  he  would  endure  well 
enough  the  toils  of  a  single  campaign,  was  not  questioned  even 
among  those  who  were  jealous  of  his  wealth  and  great  appoint 
ments  ;  and  still  less  was  it  doubted  that  he  would  carry  himsc'l 
well  in  such  passages  of  arms  as  it  should  fortune  him  to  en 
counter.  He  was  acknowledged  to  be  a  good  lance  and  a  prop 
er  horseman,  and  as  now  he  appeared  in  the  amphitheatre,  portly 
of  figure,  tall,  erect,  covered  with  shining  armor,  riding  a  splendid 
bay,  whose  form  and  color  were  equally  free  of  blemish — for 
the  white  spot,  of  crescent  shape,  conspicuous  in  the  centre  of 
the  horse's  forehead,  was  held  to  be  a  beauty  and  not  a  blemish 
—the  loud  shout  of  applause  which  welcomed  him,  seemed  to 
give  assurance  of  the  popular  confidence  in  his  prowess.  His 
steed  was  gayly  caparisoned  with  his  master's  favorite  col«»rsf 
green  and  gold,  and  his  own  bearing  seemed  to  exhibit  a  full  con 
sciousness  of  the  distinction  he  enjoyed,  in  carrying  so  brave  a 
rider.  The  portly  knight  bestrode  him  with  an  air  and  spirit 
worthy  of  so  gallant  an  animal ;  and,  as  he  pricked  him  forward 
with  the  formidable  Spanish  rowel  and  made  him  caracole  to  the 
balcony,  where  sate  the  Adelantado  and  his  noble  companions  of 
the  fair  sex,  the  populace  again  shouted  their  nnsnppressible 
admiration.  Vasco  Porcallos  wore  a  brilliant  armor,  which  be 
trayed  never  a  stain  of  the  soil.  A  rich  surcoat  of  ^rreen  silk 
(afterwards  thrown  off)  hung  somewhat  loosely  above  his  armor 
which  was  of  polished  steel,  fretted  in  figures  of  gold  and  silver. 


BALTIIA/Ai:    UK    <;ALLK<;OS.  21") 

nnes  and  flower.-  appearing  in  the  sort  of  jeweller  s  work  which 
is  known  as  variegated  gold.      His  helmet  was  of  like   mat*  rial 
and  ornament,  surmounted  with  a  bunch  of  beautiful  and  e 
plumes  of  the  heron.     The  small  shield  which  he  carried  lightly 
upon  his  left  arm,  was  of  >  .  inlaid  with  a  circular   bor 

dering  of  gold,  of  vines  and  flowers,  in  the  centre  of  which, 
splendidly  illuminated,  was  the  armorial  ensign  of  the  knight  — 
a  bright,  keen  eye,  looking  out  from  a  sun  of  Mazing  gold.  The 
arrogant  motto  spoke  sufficiently  for  the  insolent  ambition  of 
the  cavalier.  "  Es  mio  lo  que  veoT— ('•  That  is  mine  which  I 
see!")  But  this  confidence  vexed  no  self-esteem  in  all  the 

rnbly.     It  was  but  the  embodiment  of  the  national  coi 
and  it  was  perhaps  warranted   by  the  fact.     They    hud   made 
their  own  all  that  they  had  seen.     It  was  an    encouragement    to 
valor  and  enterprise,  that  the   nation  should   thus   believe,  that 
there  was   nothing,  in   reserve,  which   its  warriors  could    not.  in 
like   manner,  make   their   own.     The   faith   makes   the  vi< : 
Vasco  Porcallos,  known  by  his  largesse   much  more   than  by  his 
valor,  was    readily    assumed    to    possess    a   spirit    and    capacity 
worthy  of  his  bounty;  and  his  graceful   obeisance   before  the 
rff/i.v  upon  which   Ilernan  de  Soto  sate,  was  congratulated  by  the 
repeated  rtrcrs  of  the  multitude,  and  acknowledged  by  the  gracious 
smile  and  courtesy  of  the  Adelantado.      1  Jack  ing   his  steed  with 
an  elegant  and  mca-ured.  \i  t  free  motion. 
to  his  brother  challengers  to  conn-  forward. 

lie  wa-   followed    by   Haltha/ar  d  i    «:al 

lant  adventurer;    who,  without   being  <juite   so   matured  by  time 
as  Vasco  Porca  tot,  lud,  perhaps,  .een  quite  as  nn  in 

Indian  warfare.       Hi-   can-' ...  food,  and  his  -.kill  and  ^r 

in  managing  hi-  -{,•»•.!  freTC   <mite  equal  to 
sor;    but  there  was  a  lam.-ntablo  disparity  in   their  eqi. 
The  hone  WM  a  fine   one.  biL.r-linib.-d.  y,-t    of  lively  motion;    but 
his  furniture  wa<    rusty;   and    the  armor  of  th.-   rid.  -tin- 

guished    equally    by    the    antiquity    of   its    appearance,   and    the 
numerous  dints  of  ],a'tl.-  whi--h  it  -howed.      I-'VL-II  tl 
orations  which  Haltha/.n  , mploy.-J   in  honor  of  the 


216  VASCOXSELOS. 

occasion, — consisting  of  gaudy  scarf  and  various  colored  shoulder 
knots  and  ribbons,  served  rather  to  expose  than  to  relieve  the 
defects  and  decayed  places  in  his  rusty  harness.  His  shield  was 
large  and  cumbrous,  but  carried  lightly  on  his  muscular  arm. 
It  was  of  a  faded  blue  ground,  on  which  was  painted  a  volcanic 
mountain  in  eruption,  the  jets  of  fire  ascending  without  falling— 
the.  motto  indicative  of  a  thoroughly  Spanish  ambition — "Mas 
bien  consumir  que  no  txaltarmeT — ("Rather  burn  than  not  rise!") 
A  few  cheers  followed  the  appearance  of  this  cavalier;  but  they 
sounded  very  coldly  and  meanly,  succeeding  those  which  had 
honored  the  man  of  fortune ;  and  after  making  his  obeisance, 
Balthazar  de  Gallegos,  drew  his  steed  into  the  background,  as  if 
satisfied  that  his  mountain  would  burn  rather  unprofitably  at  the 
present  moment. 

Very  different  was  the  welcome  which  hailed  the  appearance 
of  the  third  challenger.  This  was  our  old  acquaintance,  the  amo 
rous  young  cavalier,  Nuno  de  Tobar.  Nuno  was  a  favorite  with 
all  classes,  poor  and  rich,  men  no  less  than  women.  His  known 
grace  and  bravery, — his  frank  carriage,  easy,  accessible,  playful 
manner, — the  generosity  of  his  heart, — the  unaffected  simplicity 
of  his  nature, — all  combined  to  secure  for  him  the  most  sweet 
voices  of  the  multitude.  These  became  clamorous  as  the  spec 
tators  beheld  the  elegance  and  excellence  with  which  he  man- 
ai_rrd  the  iron-gray  charger  wliich  he  bestrode — the  dexterity  with 
which  he  led  him,  caracoling,  almost  waltzing,  around  the  lists, 
to  the  foot  of  the  gallery  where  the  Adelantado  presided.  The 
steed  himself  was  one  to  delight  the  eye  of  all  who  beheld  him, — 
his  symmetrical  outline,  his  fiery  grace,  and  the  perfect  obedi 
ence  which  he  displayed,  even  when  his  spirit  seemed  eager  to 
burst  from  the  bondage  of  his  own  frame.  The  armor  of  Nuno 
de  Tobar  was  bright  and  polished.  lie  had  taken  some  lessons 
on  this  subject  from  the  Portuguese  brothers,  whom  he  aimed  to 
rival.  It  was  not  rich,  like  that  of  Vasco  de  Porcallos,  nor  in 
such  good  taste.  In  truth,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  tastes 
of  Nuno  were  inclined  to  be  gaudy.  The  decorations  of  his 
armor,  due  probably  as  much  to  his  gay  young  wife,  as  to  hia 


MATKO    DK   ACEYTUNO.  217 

own  tastes,  were  uf  a  kind  to  suit  the  costume  of  a  damsel  rather 

than  u  cavalier.     But  liveliness   and  gallantry  in  youth  will  be 
permitted  to  excuse  the  offence  of  foppishness;    and,  where  the 
a  knight  showed  themselves  doubtfully,  a  gentle  judg 
ment    allowed   his   other  personal  (nudities  to  repair  the  d<  : 
The  -peetators  beheld  nothing  but  his  graces,  the  known  kind, 
of  his  heart,  the  strength  of  his  arm,  the  spirit  and  the  beauty  of 
horsemanship;   and,  while  the   men    made   the    welkin   ring 
with  their  clamor  at  his   appearance,  the  dam>els    iv-ponded   to 
their   welcomes   l»y    a    pretty    effort    at    clapping   hands,    and    a 
naing  bu/.z  of  approving  voices;    for  all  which,  our  young 
knight  exhibited  a  due  measure  of  the  most  grateful  His 

.••uld    mention.    Lore   ih,  station    of  a    ship 

,.  w;;h   :'.  >.   "  I'll  ma  <ierto"— (The 

'.ved    very  mueh    in    tlje    -pirit    of  all    the 

SpaiiMi  enterprise  of  that  day.     Having  finished  his  p  and 

ma.le  a  lauda'  {>  &<* 

iued   his   steed    backwards,  and   took  i. 

bazai  de  GWlegOSJ   being  the  third  of  the  knight-   on  the  list 
of  ehalleii. 

He  was  followed    by  three  cavalier^  of  g<>o.l   repute:   (1 
pher   d.-    Spinola,   (lon/.alo  Sylve-tre,  (a   youth    not    more   than 

:'  tine  figure,  excellent  >kill  and  gl 

an.)     '  HIM,  a    brave    knight,   who  the 

rest  in  frame   <>f  all    th.'  'n  the   army.      \Vh.-tlu-roii 

<.r  iiH-nntr.!,  hi-  "igantic   >tature,  like  that   of  S  L«  it 

him  to  town-  above   all    his  ;          j'irit    ami 

prowr—  were  OOl  unwortli, 

of  movement,  ap.ith. 

faiU-d  in  any  •.!'  the  dutiefl  \\hi-  h 

ha\  ;eh  alwa\  for  him  the  A] 

hi-   >iip«-ri"r-.       He    n-d,'  a  famous   -teed,  nain 

himself,  tliat   had  a  reputation   . 

be  of  direct  Barbary  orig'ni.  and  greatly  value. 1  by  h  A  ho, 

howe\n\  Bllbaeqiientljf  j-n-s.-nti-d  him  to  1  )r  S.)t..,  iii  ooo 

of  the  fiv«meiit  an.l  warmlv  expressed  admiration  of  the  latter. 

10 


218  VASCONSELOS. 

Aceytuno  w:u>  b.  brilliant  animal ;  in  color  something  between  A 
sorrel  and  a  bay,  hut  of  a  blood  so  rich  that  it  seemed  rather  to 
diffuse  itself  everywhere  beneath  the  skin,  through  which  it  shone 
fike  a  purpb  dye,  than  to  pursue  its  bounded  course  through  the 
ordinary  channel  of  vein  and  artery. 

Each  of  these  knights  had  his  motto  and  coat-of-arms.  The 
•shield  of  Christopher  de  Spinola  carried  a  pair  of  huge  wings, 
under  which  was  written,  "A  solas  me  sostingo"  (Alone  I  sustain 
myself,)  not  a  bad  image  for  a  modest  bachelor,  who  had  licit  her 
.ior  children,  and  was  not  required  to  feed  the  orphans  of 
of  his  neighbors.  That  of  the  gallant  youth,  Gonzalo  Syl- 
,  would  be  regarded  in  our  day  as  something  impious,  even 
for  a  lover,  who  is  supposed  to  be  excusable,  by  reason  of  the 
amiable  insanity  under  which  ho  labors,  for  any  infidelity  except 
that  to  his  mistress.  His  shield  represented  the  face  of  a  very 
beautiful  woman,  and  the  motto,  "Sin  vos,  y  sin  Dios  y  mi"  (With 
out  thee  I  am  without  God  and  without  myself,)  was  considered 
by  all  the  young  damsels  present  as  the  most  felicitous  of  all  swi  ef 
sayings,  to  which,  whatever  might  be  ihc  objections  of  the  Deity 
himself,  the  Blessed  Virgin  ought  by  no  manner  of  reason  to 
object  at  all.  The  f.gure  upon  the  shield  of  Don  Mateo  de 
Aceytuno  was  confined  to  his  profei.sion  of  arms.  A  mailed 
hand  grasps  a  lance;  the  device  was.  "No  hay  otro  vinculo  que  el 
nuestro"  ("  There  is  no  L^nd  of  unioo*  but  ours" — or,  as  uibder 
stood,  if  not  expressed — '  we  part  all  bonds  but  our  own.") 

Mateo  de  Ao'ytuno  completed  the  number  of  the  challengers. 
They  n<>w  rode  together  around  the  lists,  prepared  to  undertake 
all  comers.  The  first  passages  were  to  be  with  the  lance ;  to  be 
followed  by  the  battle-axe  or  sword,  according  to  the  pleasure 
of  the  ci.ntending  parties;  ami  the,  breaking  of  the  lance,  the 
blow  fairly  delivered  without  defence  offered,  of  the  battle-axe; 
or  the  sword  wrested  from  the  gripe  of  one  or  other  of  the  com 
batant-,  in  the  struggle.  wa<  u.idcistood  to  be  conclusive  of  the 
combat  in  cadi  ca<e.  and  suflicient  for  the  victory. 

By  this  time  exportation  was  at  the  highest  point  of  excitation 
in  the  assembly.  The  galleries  were  all  rilled  with  spectators; 


THE    CHALLENGERS.  219 

nridor  girdlefl  demfely  with  I  reckless  and  eager  j 

tlu-  MI.  '-  shone,  without  vacancy,  with  beauty  and  spleii- 

along  tin-  surrounding  hills,  groups  of  the  simple 
natives  miuht  be  >ecn  looking  on  and  listening,  though  unable 
to  catch  more  than  a  glimp-e  of  event-,  and  depending  for  their 
inteiv^t  upon  th  on  of  emotions  among  those  wl, 

,  hilc,  the  eyes  of  the  knights-challcn-  :t  naturally 

:ns   of  the    fair  ladies   in   the   galleries.      Of  th< 
the  herald-  kept  them  con-tantly  reminded  by  their  cries, — cries 
immemorially  preserved    by  tin-  heralds  of  chivalry     -eiicourag 
ing  them  to  brave  deeds  foi  the  reward  of  iovii: 

"  IJriirht  eyesl11  was  the  quaint  form  of  the  apost rophe  ; — 
"bright  eyes  \»r  tin-  bles>ing  of  brave  lances!  l>ra\e  lai. 

imr   of   bl  '.      Smilf.  fair    ladi«-s.  that    your   noble 

may  take  heart!       I  )o  bra\v  deeds,  Doble  lovers,  that    the 
adies  of  your  h<  arts  may  smile!   a  trumpet  for  brave  lan< 
and  thrice  a  trumpet  for    ...-  honor  of  bright  e, 

Then  blared  the  lively  bugles  in  full  bla-t  t«»grther  !  Thi-n 
burst  iu  mi^htv  gushes  the  full  torrents  of  the  wild  barbaric  mu 
sic,  whieh  the  Wisigoth  had  borrowi-.l  from  tlie  Moor,  and  the 
Spaniard  from  both — drums,  and  flut'--.  ami  cymbals; — whih-.  the 

relieved    by  miirmui's  of 

delight ;  by  >uddeii  (3168  of  exultation  --by  -hoiit>  of  aj>plau->e  and 
encouragement. 

•  •tV.-i-t  of  all  th'  .rkabh'  upon  the  knights- 

challengers    than    upon    the    crowd.       The  enthusiastic    \. 

mammon.  I  )<m  \".  llo«,  cot- 

keep  h  o  eagerly  did    his    ears  drink   in   the  stimulating 

sounds   and   murmurs,  so   fondly  did   hi-   eyea   traverse  ihat    fiir 
i-right    glaliee-    he  \\a-    bade    to    look.       .\«.r 

wa>  the  etll'et  thus  stimulating  in  his  iv-p,  et  alone.      Don  Nuno 
>>ir  did  not  fail   to  not'-  the  perpetual  waving  towai'ds  liim 
of  th"  ---an'  of  his  ne\vly-made  and  dutifully-lo\ '  but  it 

must  be  contes-M-d  that  hi-  ;u  that 

.  with  ijui:  he  paid  to  the  beau 

tiful,  but  frail.  !  ,t.    The  \oii!i_  k  lghte,GhrM 


220  VASCONSELOS. 

topher  de  Spinola  and  Gonzalo  de  Sylvestre,  were  not  less  heed- 
ful  of  charms  to  which  they  might  more  properly  assert  their 
claims ;  and,  despite  his  rough  exterior,  Balthazar  de  Gallegos 
showed  himself  as  eager  of  the  notice  of  the  ladies  as  any  of  the 
rest.  Of  whom,  indeed,  does  not  beauty,  when  it  smiles,  make 
the  fool?  The  rough  soldier,  seasoned  to  ill  usage  and  strife, 
callous  to  blows,  and  sworn  to  plunder,  was  quite  as  solicitous 
of  the  approval  of  bright  eve-,  a-  the  young  gallant  just  about  to 
undertake  his  devoir  to  secure  his  spurs  of  knighthood. 

But  a  rougher  parley  awaits  all  the  parties.  The  Adelantado 
gives  the  signal  for  the  assailants  to  appear.  Don  Balthazar  de 
Alvaro  waves  his  truncheon;  the  heralds  shout,  the  trumpets 
sound,  and  the  tram  pings  of  horse  again  are  heard.  Soon,  the 
six  assailing  cavaliers  begin  to  pass  into  the  amphitheatre. 

We  shall  be  excused  from  such  details,  in  respect  to  the 
\ve  have  given  of  the  challengers,  and  for  obvious  reasons.  They 
do  not  concern  the  actual  business  of  this  true  chronicle,  and  enough 
has  been  shown  to  allbrd  a  general  idea  of  the  habits,  manners. 
and  characteristics  of  the  times.  We  shall,  accordingly,  confine 
ourselves,  hereafter,  to  such  persons  only  as  belong  to  our  dra 
matic  perso:>(K. 

Of  the  six  assailants,  then,  we  are  required  to  report  that 
Don  Phiiip  tie  Ya-eoii>elos  ranked  only  as  the  fifth.  His  own 
modesty  gave  him  this  position.  He  might  have  led  the  party, 
had  it  pleased  him  to  do  BO,  lint  he  p referred  simply  to  take 
his  place  as  one  of  several.  Sis  brother  Andres  was  not  of  either 
party;  but  this,  it  mu>t  be  remembered,  did  not  allect  his  claims 
to  take  the  field  against  all,  or  any,  of  those  who  might  remain 
the  conquerors, 

Philip  was    mounted    upon  a  coal-Muck   >teed  of  famous  nur 
Cure  ;   large  of  frame,  strong  of  mii-de.  flei  t   »f  foot,  hardy   to 
endure,  and  of  a  beautiful    symmetry.      It  was  a  pleasure  to  be 
hold  his  form,  simply  as   he  stood,  without    motion,  obcdK  nt    to 
therein.      Hi-  eve,   fla-hed    fire  as    he  darted    into  the  rii, 
heard   the  mingled   cries  and  clamors  from  a  hundred   tnr 
and  a  thousand  voices.     Though  docile  as  a  lamb,  his  forefoot 


PHILIP   IN   THE   LISTS.  221 

pawed  the  earth  impatiently,  as  if  emulous  of  the  laurels  also, 
and  his  breast  heaved,  like  a  roeking  ship,  that  .-trains  upon  the 
cordage,  as  if  anxious  to  break  away  upon  the  billows.  Hut 
the  firm  hand  of  the  rider  was  the  anchor  to  hi-  will.  Very 
calmly  did  Philip  de  Ya.-coiiselos  approach  the  dais,  and  make 
his  obeisance  with  lifted  lance,  and  graceful  bend  of  his  mailed 
stature,  to  the  Adclantado.  There  was  no  curvetting,  no  aim 
to  shou  either  his  riding  or  his  bearing.  De  Soto  received  him 
with  a  graceful,  but  not  a  cordial  salutation.  The  smile  upon  his 
lips  was  \eryfaint  and  cold;  very  dilleivnt,  indeed,  from  that 
of  the  noble  lady  his  wife,  who  curtsied  frankly,  and  smiled 
rinnlv.  \\hile  her  eye  declared  her  honest  admiration  of  the 
character  and  bearing  of  the,  knight  of  Portugal.  1  "iild 

give  the  defection  from    his    rank-  .j'erieiiced    an 

and    though  very    impolitic    to  discriminate   in   the 
tre:itm.-nt  of  the  knigl/  <  -ne  of  th«>>e  men  v. 

but  too  frequent!^  «--cap«-  the  fetter-  of  their  policy.  With  a 
further  oi.eisinee.  Philip  dosed  his  \i-or.  and  n>de  baek  to  his 
place  in  the  li-ts  — a  place  which  brought  him  to  confront  the 
burly  form  of  •  '•'  'uno. 

We  mu-t  not  t'-rgi-l  to  mention  tliat  his  person  was  cased  in 
a  beautiful,  but  ]>lain  suit  of  chain  armor,  of  the  pu:v-t  fashion, 
li  was  ver\  brightly  polished,  and  as  free  of  sj,«,t  or  d«  ' 

lie   did    not   wear   in    Indian  battle,  but    in 

place  of  it  on*  i,  well  wadded,  which,  strai;_  had 

be.-n  loiiii'l   b  jain-t  th-  :'  the  red  man.  than 

the  vaunted  armor  of  the  knights  of  Christendom.     Hi-  h«  Inict 
siirmount.  ,1   by  a  singlf  plume,  !ong  and  waving,  ainl  b 

• 

the  ci-ntre  of   wh',  t  and  devi«-,-, — the  li'jii: 

ruinc.l    :  :n    which   a  tale. MI    was    about    to   fly. 

.    Latin;         I 

(Having  the  \\in-j.  I  no  !-:  'In-  ih'st.) — a  sufil.-ieiit  allu 

sion    to  hi-    hom,  :md    to  ti 

which  .  liable,!    him    to  .      !  i. 

•  1,  no  ribboi    ;    but  with  i.niform  c.  Attune,  there  win 


'^22  VASCONSKLOS. 

a  sort  of  sombre  nobleness  in  his  aspect  that  compelled  respect 
ful  attention.  His  known  prowess,  honored  by  those  who  were 
jealous  of  his  nation,  increased  the  admiration  of  those  who  sur 
veyed  his  Conn  and  watched  his  movements.  Of  these  he  recked 
little,  and  perhaps  saw  nothing ;  but  there  were  eyes  in  that 
great  assembly  whom  it  thrilled  his  bosom  to  feel  were  behold 
ing  him  also.  In  the  brief  moment  of  communion  with  the  gal 
lory,  where  sate  the  grandees  of  the  island  and  their  families,  his 
glance  had  encountered  with  that  of  Olivia  de  Alvaro.  She  had 
striven  greatly  to  avoid  the  single  look  which  sh^  gave  him,  but 
a  terrible  fascination  forced  her  eyes  upon  him.  His  grew 
brighter  and  prouder  at  the  grateful  encounter,  and  he  did  not 
perceive  that  hers  sunk  upon  the  instant  of  meeting,  and  that  her 
cheek  grew  ashen  pale.  But  her  emotion  did  not  escape  the 
keen  glances  of  her  uncle ;  and  a  close  observer  might  have  noted 
the  sudden  contraction  of  his  brows,  which  followed  his  discovery. 
Sitting  where  he  did,  just  below  the  Adelantado,  and  immediate 
ly  above  the  lists,  he  witnessed  easily  the  sudden  quickening  of 
light  in  tlu-  eyes  of  the  Portuguese  cavalier,  and  the  as  sudden 
paling  of  the  cheek  of  Olivia.  But  Philip  and  Olivia  were,  at 
that  moment,  wholly  unconscious  of  the  watch  maintained  upon 
them. 

Sici.-,  let  us  pause  and  breathe.  Our  chapter  is  a  long  one. 
and  having  placed  our  champions  in  opposition,  let  us  reserve 
the  report  of  the  joyous  passage  for  another. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

4  Son  dunque,"  disse  U  Saracino,    '  tone 

Dunque  in  *t  poco  credito  con  voi, 
Che  mi  stiinmte  inutile,  e  non  huono 
Da  pol»T vi  difender  da  eostui?" — ARJOSTO 

THE  temptation  to  describe  the  scene  that  followed  must  be 
struggled  with.  It  will  not  do  for  us  to  aim  at  successes,  at  this 
late  day,  in  a  field  which  has  employed  the  genius  of  Tasso,  of 
Ariosto,  of  Spenser,  and  Walter  Scott,  not  to  speak  of  hundreds 
more,  whose  practised  pens  have  painted  for  us  the  full  details 
of  many  a  well-urged  paasages-ofc&rma  between  rival  knights  in 
the  presence  of  nobility  and  beauty.  The  reader  is  already  suf 
ficiently  imbued  with  such  scenes  to  require  no  elaborate  details ; 
and  we  shall,  accordingly,  confine  ourselves  mostly  to  those  por 
tions  of  the  tournament  at  Havana  which  concern  immediately 
the  persons  of  our  own  drama,  making  the  general  description 
(•met  as  possible.  With  this  caution  to  our  audience, 
again-t  unreasonable  fears  or  improper  expectations,  we  proceed 
to  our  task. 

The  champions,  challengers,  and  defenders,  bring  now  con 
fronted,  and  all  prepared,  the  truncheon  of  De  Soto  was  raised, 
giving  the  signal.  The  trumpets  sounded  the  charge,  ami  th»- 
opposing  parties  rushed  to  the  encounter  like  so  many  vivio 
fla-hev  from  the  cloud.  The  concussion  threw  up  a  sudden  whirl 
wind  of  dust,  while  the  solid  earth  >h«»>k  b.-neath  the  thunder  of 
rtu-ir  tread.  At  the  very  first  encounter  two  of  the  assailing 
party  and  one  of  the  challengers  went  down,  and  were  dr 
off  the  field  by  their  squires.  This  result  left  Nuno  de  Tobar, 
whose  opponent  had  been  on«-  of  tho-e  overthrown,  to  turn  his 
lance  in  whatsoever  direction  he  thought  proper;  but,  with  th*» 


224  VASCONSELOS. 

generosity  of  a  noble  nature,  he  preferred  to  keep  himself  in 
reserve  for  such  other  inequality  in  the  struggle  as  might  yield 
him  an  unembarrassed  combatant  wholly  to  himself.  New 
lances  having  been  supplied  to  those  who  had  fractured  them  fairly 
in  the  passage  and  without  disparagement  to  their  arms,  the  sig 
nal  was  given  for  a  fresh  encounter ;  the  vacancies,  meanwhile, 
being  supplied  in  the  ranks  of  both  parties.  In  this  second  pas. 
sage,  Don  Vasco  de  Poreallos  carried  himself  so  handsomely 
against  his  opponent,  who  was  a  huge  Fleming  of  nearly  his  own 
dimensions,  that  the  latter  was  incontinently  overthrown,  and 
removed  almost  insensible  from  the  field.  A  similar  fortune, 
though  not  with  such  serious  hurt,  befell  Christopher  de  Spinola, 
whose  boast  "  a  solan  me  sostinyo"  was  not  justified  by  the  result 
of  the  encounter,  lie  was  handsomely  lifted  out  of  his  saddle 
by  the  lance  of  Diego  Arias  Tinoco,  a  brave  captain,  rough  as  a 
porcupine,  who  was  honored  as  standard-bearer  of  the  army. 
The  latter,  being  now  disengaged,  was  singled  out  by  Nuno  de 
Tobar,  and  his  horse  failing,  and  swerving  in  the  shock,  he  was 
adjudged  to  have  been  worsted,  and  very  reluctantly  yielded  for 
the  moment  to  a  conqueror. 

'Hie  success***  of  Nuno  were  welcomed  right  royally  by  the. 

cheers  of  the   admiring    spectators;    whose  comments,  by  the 

way,  were  administered  unsparingly,  whether  for  praise  or  blame, 

at.  every  charge  in  the  business  of  the  field.     Meanwhile,  Philip 

de  Vascon.-'eloo  has  borne  himself  in  a  second  encounter  with  the 

gigantic  Mateo  de  Aceytuno.    In  the  first,  a  gent  le  and  joyous  pas- 

8,  as  the  heralds  styled  it,  the  advantage  was  decreed  to  rest 

with  neither.     Their  lances  had  been  mutually  well  addressed,  and 

had  shivered  at  the  same  moment,  both  knights  preserving  their 

scats  handsomely,  though  not,  perhaps,  with  equal  grace;     for 

Philip  had    few   equals  in   mere   carriagi — and   recovered    their 

places   in   an    instant;    but  proper  judgments   remarked,   in    the 

str.'HM  /«//</.%•  of  the    mountains,  that  the  h<>r>e  of  Mateo  had    ton 

little    h<>,,c   for   his   master's   h,rf.      In   this,  he    certainly   MilK-ivd 

souie  disadvantage,      liut,   the    second  conflict   \\a>  deeisi\  e  ;    ami 

Oie  knight  of  Aceytuno  went  down  before  his  more  adroit  aiilago- 


TIIE   TOURNAMENT.  225 

nist — his  huge  bulk  thundering  upon  the  earth  like  the  concussion 
of  some  mighty  tower.  Something  of  this  advantage  \v:i 
to  be  ilue  to  a  loosening  of  the  girth,  by  which  the  saddle  of  the 
heavy  knight  was  secured;  but  others  more  liberal,  perhaps  just, 
ascribed  it  to  the  better  skill  of  Philip;  at  all  events,  the  MI.- 
opponent  disappearing  from  the  field,  Philip  de  Vasoonselos  lo-md 
himself  in  the  presence  of  another,  in  the  per*««n  of  'hi,  friend, 
Nuno  de  Tobar. 

Perhaps,  the  whole  tournament  exhibited  no  two  wurri<  . 
ter  matched   in   most  respeets.      They  were    nearly  of   th  •    sanu- 
si/e  and  age;  of  strength  apparently  nearly  eijiial,  e«pia!ly 
in  the  use  of  weapons,  and  equally  ace  miplishcd  in  the  manage 
ment  of  the  horse.      The-e  were  the  comparison^  made  by  most 
persons;  and  as  the  two  combatants,  now  almo>t  alone  el  j 
in  the  area,  confronted   e:  ,-h   other  with   fresh  lances,  the   people. 
and  after  them  the  heralds,  sent  up  fresh  erics  of  admiration  and 

encouragement, 

'•IIo!  brave  cavaliers,  for  the  honor  of  your  ladies!  Ib>! 
bright  lances,  for  the  glory  of  the  conquest  !"  And,  sometimes, 
the  cry,  "  II"!  Santiago,  and  the  lance  of  Spain!"  Indicated  the 
working  of  that  feeling  of  nationality,  which  did  not  forget  that 
the  opponent  of  Nuno  de  Tobar  was  from  another,  and,  at  that 
time,  a  rival  nation.  The  occasional  murmurs,  and  >natche<  of 
dialogue  amonir  the  crowds,  declared  this  prejudice  more  strungU  . 

"I  like  not  that  the-e  Portuguese  should  come  hither  to  glean 
of  our  content*!  Shall  we  find  the  countries  and  make  tin-  e.»n 
cme-t  of  the  natives,  that  these  should  gather  the  gold  ?  Now, 
may  the  good  lamv  of  Nuno  de  Tobar  send  him  from  the  sad- 
die  with  such  shock,  a-  >hall  make  him  think  no  more  of  the  pearls 

of  Florida!" 

Such  was  the  -c*rt  of  murmur  occasionally  spoken  aloud. 

"Out  upon   thee!"  wa^   the   reply  of  >ome    le*s   selfish  spirit. 

"There  is  room  for  all,  and  gold  for  all,  and   there   need*   all  the 

brave  men  that  we  can  mu-ter  for  the-e  wars  \\itli  the  Apaht'hian 

i'hev  are  no  Midi  feeble  wretches  as  tlu-s«'  of  Cuba,  or 

even  of  P^ru,  wh«-re  Pi/arro,  1  warrant  you, -Mid  our  Adehmtado 

10* 


226  VASCO.\3KLOS. 

here,  had  work  enough.  They  will  make  us  glad  of  all  the  good 
lances  that  will  crowd  thither  under  our  banner.  The  Portu- 
guese  is  a  good  lance,  and  his  brother,  the  younger,  is  a  good 
lance ;  though  where  he  hides  himself  at  this  time,  and  wh.Te- 
fore,  I  cannot  guess.  I  had  looked  to  see  him  here.  Had  he 
been  opposed  to  our  fat  Vasco  Porcallos, instead  of  that  clumsy 
Fleming,  I  warrant  you  that  he  had  made  the  other  sweat  !  But, 
hark!  they  prepare!  Go  to  it,  good  knights!  Go  to  it  with  a 
stomach!  Show  that  ye  have  fed  on  lances!  That  your  daily 
meat  hath  been  bolt  and  spear-head,  and  your  drink  hath  been 
sword-blades,  and  Moorish  scimitars  !  Ho!  brave  lances  !  Ho! 
brave  steeds  !  To  it !  to  it !  brave  lances,  noble  steeds  !" 

This  was  one  of  a  hundred  voices,  eagerly  urging  the  cavaliers 
to  the  conflict  which  was  held  so  equal.  Equal  in  many  respects, 
there  were  yet  some,  in  which  the  knight  of  Portugal.  <>r  as  they 
called  him,  "  the  Knight  of  the  Homeless  Falcon," — in  allusion  to 
his  crest — had  much  the  advantage.  His  steed  had  been  better 
trained  for  such  encounters ;  he  himself  had  seen  more  various 
service ;  and  he  possessed  a  sedate  and  temperate  coolness  of 
mind,  to  which  the  somewhat  mercurial  nature  of  Nuno  de  To 
bar  could  not  lay  claim.  Above  all,  he  knew  just  in  what 
particulars  he  himself  was  strong  and  his  opponent  weak,  and 
he  prepared  rather  to  exercise  his  patience  and  watchfulness,  than 
his  strength  and  skill.  Nuno  de  Tobar,  ambitious  of  excelling — 
fighting  in  the  presence  of  the  army,  and  of  that  beauty  which 
was  usually  the  source  of  his  inspiration—  resolved  that  Philip  de 
Vasconselos  should  have  need  of  both.  Besides,  he  was  to  fight 
for  the  honor  of  Spanish  lances.  Though,  personally,  a  devoted 
friend  of  his  present  opponent,  he  had  heard  the  popular  cries 
which  insisted  upon  their  Cast'dian  representative,  in  opposition  to 
the  foreiijn  knight ;  and  he  was  determined  that  Spain's  honor 
should  suffer  nothing  at  his  hands. 

But  Philip  de  VasmiiM-los  had  also  heard  the.se  erics.  Ho 
had  long  since  been  bitterly  made  to  feel  the  jealousy  and  preju 
dices  which  existed  aiimiig-4  the  <  Vtilians  towards  himself  and 
bis  Portuguese  associates,  and  the  pride  of  self  and  nation,  which 


THK  ADVKK.SAK:  227 

rendered  resolute  his  courage,  was  mingled  with  something  of 
bitterness,  which  made  him  half  forgetful  that   Xuiio  de  Tobar 
was  iiis  friend.     Thus  it  was  that,  as  if  in  recognition  of  the  pe 
culiar  wi-hcs  of  the  multitude,  each  knight  was  prepared  to  en- 
•i  tlie  struggle  with  a  sentiment  approaching   that  of  a  real 
hostility.      We  have  said  nothing  of  the  influence  which  the  pre- 
Uvaro  had  upon  tlii.--.  feeling  of  Philip.      It  is 
enoug1.  :KI!  it  did  not,  l»y  any  means  lessen  his  fixed  re 

.solution   to  employ  all  the   prowess  of  which  he  was  master   in 
the  approaching  controv> 

The  interval   i.  \n   providing  the  champion*  with  fiv>h 

girth^  of  their  saddles,  and  otherwise  making 

them  ready  for  the  combat,  was  consumed  in  much  less  time  than 

vse  have  taken    in  describing  it.     The  knights  were  both  in   their 

.  and   the  trumpets  sounded   tin-  charge.     The  passage  was 

beautiful  one,  which  greatly  delighted  tin-  heralds.      Both 

-hivered  equally,  the  strokes  being  made  at  th. 

at,  and    each    delivering    it    fairly  upon    the    shield   of  his 

Newly   supplied    with  weapons,  the    encounter  was   re- 

:  with  the  same  result*,      IJy  this  time,  however,  Nuiio 

jrowing  impatient.      He  felt,  rather  than  beheld, 

of  his  opponent  ;   in  which  he  knew  lay  the  chief  ad 

the   latter;    and  with   this  feeling,  it   -eemed  quite  in 

vain  that    he  strove  to  piv-crve  his  <,\\n.      Philip  de  Va-conselos 

•-••d    the    roll.  '  his    adversary,  in  a  little  circum- 

which  drew  down  upon  theSpanMi  champion  thethoiightless 

applauses  of  the  multitude.      In  receiving  a  fresh  lance  from   the 

.  and  while  wheeling  about    I  his    portion  in  the 

bar  hurled    the   lance  no  less    than    three   times   into 

hing   it  dexterou^! \  t.  h    time  by  the 

b    agility,    which    seenu-d    conclusive    to    tlu> 

i'.ial    confidence   and    .-kill,  appeared    in   the  eyes  of 

Philip  de  V  fa  in  rvous  excitation,  rather  than 

•':i  <.f  will,  or  cooln.-ss;   aii.l    he   pn  pared    him- 

/  his  plan  of  combat.      Hith.it->.  \shen 
1  hail  rush.-d  to  the  ciicoiiiit.  r,  hi-   lance,  like  that  of  1 )«? 


223  VASCOXSELOS. 

Tobar,  had  been  addressed  to  the  shield  of  his  opponent.     This 
was  the  common  mark  in  the  tournament  of  that  day ;  the  want 
of  exercise  making  the  atteint  more  difficult  when  addressed  to 
the  gorget,  or  the  helm  ;  but  the  cavalier  of  Portugal  had  prac 
tised  the  one  method  as  well   as  the  other,  and  not  designing  a 
surprise  upon  his  opponent,  he  shook  out  his  lance,  ere  the  trum 
pets  sounded,  and  levelled  it  in  the  direction  of  De  Tobar's  visor. 
The  hint  seemed  to  be  taken,  for  the  lance  of  the  latter  was  at 
once  slightly  elevated,  receiving  a  new  direction  in  his  glance. 
Thus  prepared,  the  signal  was  given,  and  they  hurried  to  the 
shock.     At  the  moment  of  crossing  spears,  his  point  still  ad 
dressed  to  the  visor  of  his  opponent,  Vasconselos  threw  suddenly 
the  lower  edge  of  his  shield  forwards,  inclining  it  over  his  own 
head,  and  watching  the  object  of  his  aim  from  beneath  the  very 
rim  of  the  buckler.     No  time  was  left  the  other  for  providing 
against  this  peculiar  interposition  of  the  shield,  which  required 
him  to  have  aimed  so  truly  as  to  thrust  his  lance  directly  against 
the  visor  of  his  antagonist,  the  crest  of  which  was  totally  covered, 
leaving  the  mark  aimed  at  reduced  to  the  smallest  possible  size. 
The  skill  of  Tobar  was  not  equal  to  such  a  manoeuvre.     The 
point  of  his  lance  accordingly  struck  the  tdge  of  the  raised  shield, 
and  glanced  upward,  and  onward,  over  the  smooth  surface,  ex 
pending  itself  in  air ;  while  the  point  of  Vasconselos,  admirably 
delivered,  was  riveted  in  the  bars  of  his  antagonist's  visor,  so 
firmly,  and  so  fairly,  that  there  was  no  escape,  no  evasion  of  it 
possible;  and  the  gallant  Nuno  was  borne,  from  his  saddle,  with 
out  seeming  resistance.     Indeed,  the  spear  so  fixed,  the  onward 
rush  of  both  steeds  gave  it  an  impulse  which  no  skill,  no  strength, 
at  such  a  moment,  could  possibly  withstand.     It  can  led  him 
headlong  to  the  ground,  and   the  steed  went   free  from   under 
him. 

There  was  a  cry,  almost  a  howl,  from  the  multitude,  at  the 
fall  of  their  favorite,  and  the  national  champion. 

"  Demonios  !"'  sang  out  the  swell  mob  in  the  corridor,  who 
flung  up  their  arms  with  their  voices,  and  swore,  and  tore  their 
hair,  with  as  much  vivaeity  as  could  be  shown  by  the  most  mer- 


THE    LAST    uK    THK    CHALLENGERS.  226 

curial  Frenchman.  A  few  voices  shouted  their  applause  of  the 
conqueror;  not  able  to  resist  the  emotion,  more  strong  than 
nationality,  in  favor  of  a  deed  of  manhood.  But  these  soon  died 
;  and  then  could  be  heard  that  angry  sort  of  discussion,  in 
all  parts  of  the  amphitheatre,  in  which,  though  all  persons  were 
agreed,  there  was  yet  no  possibililty  of  settling  upon  the  reason 
which  should  justify  their  anger,  or  soothe  their  disappointment 
Meanwhile,  Philip  do  Yasconselos  had  thrown  himself  out  of  the 
saddle,  and  was  the  lir>t  to  hurry  to  a^>i->t  and  extricate  hN  friend 
from  helm  and  gorget,  and  raise  him  from  the  ground.  The 
squires,  however,  were  soon  in  attendance.  The  fall  had  been  a 
really  severe  one,  and  the  Spanish  knight  was  somewhat  stunned 
by  it  ;  but,  otherwise,  he  \va>  uninjured.  But  his  head  felt  the 
Ot  his  heart.  His  gloved  hand,  as  soon  as  he  had 
sufficiently  recovered  to  recogni/e  his  opponent,  clutched  that  of 
Vasconselo-.  in  token  of  that  friendly  sympathy  between  them, 
which  >uch  an  event  could  never  interrupt.  lie  was  assisted  off 
from  the  field,  and  Philip  now  rode  back  to  his  place,  prepared 
for  the  next  encounter. 

The  oaprfoe*  of  the  day  had  loft  him  without  other  antagonist, 
of  all  thi-  challengers,  than  tile   portly  Hidalgo,  Don  Vasco  For- 
rallos  ,]*•  l-"iin;,To;i.      In  him.    the   Spanish   multitude   were  dis 
quiet. -d  to  think,  that  they  beheld  the  only  obstacle,  now,  in    the 
<:'  the   knight  of   Portugal;   who,  if  sueoessful   in   this   pas- 
.'.  ould  remain  the  master  of  tin-  field.     The  vain  and  wealthy 
cavalier,  thus  distinguished   b\  -  was  Ulysses,  to  be  "de 

voured  the  last'1  of  bis  comrades,  had  hitherto  maintained  him-df 
with  equal  spirit  and  II  had  been  fortunate,  perhaps, 

in  not  having  been  eonlYoiivd  with  the  mot  formidable  of  the 
kni«hts  by  \\honi  the  dull.  npTs  had  been  60  L  He 

\s;i-.  perh.ip-,  not  wholly  uneoii-ciou- of  this  fact;  and  it  was 
with  some  misgivings,  accordingly. — which  he  shared  equally 
with  his  Castilian  friends,-  that  he  pr,  pared  to  contend,  not  so 
much  for  new  oonqv  Ah'hh  his  lance 

had  already  achieved.      He    1,.  :h  of  the    prowess  of 

the  knight  of  the  Falcon,  by  whom  the  favorite  of  the  Spaniard* 


230  VASCONSELOS. 

had  been  so  roughly  handled,  to  entertain  a  reasonable  appre 
hension  of  the  consequences  to  himself;  and,  if  the  truth  were, 
known,  he  was  in  little  humor  for  this  last  grand  passage.  Could 
he  have  retired  from  the  contest  without  discredit,  and  without 
utter  forfeiture  of  the  honors  he  had  already  won,  it  is  perhaps 
doing  him  no  injustice  to  say  that  he  would  most  certainly  have 
declined  it.  He  had  not  gone  through  his  fatigues  without  suf 
fering.  His  portly  frame,  for  a  long  time  unused  to  harness. 
was  now  shrinking  beneath  its  incumbrance.  He  was  reeking 
with  perspiration,  which  a  brimming  goblet  of  cool  wine  of  Xeres, 
which  he  had  just  swallowed,  had  not  tended  to  diminish.  But, 
with  all  his  annoyances  and  doubts,  he  put  on  a  good  countenance, 
and,  closing  up  his  visor,  prepared  for  the  encounter,  with  his 
best  hope  and  spirit. 

"  The  fat  knight  adds  but  another  to  the  trophies  of  our  Por 
tuguese  cavalier.  Philip  de  Vasconselos  will  remain  master  of 
the  field  ;  certainly,  he  hath  most  admirable  skill  of  horse  and 
weapon.  He  hath  but  a  single  joust  before  him,  and  then  he 
may  elect  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty  !" 

This  was  said  by  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro.  It  was  addressed 
to  the  lady  of  the  Adelantado.  But  it  was  meant  for  other 
ears.  At  a  little  distance,  on  the  left  of  Hernan  de  Sotb,  stood 
Andres  de  Vasconselos.  He  had  been  a  witness  of  all  that  had 
taken  place  ;  and  had  heard  the  significant  words  of  Olivia's  un 
cle.  For  a  moment  he  gazed  steadily  upon  the  field  ;  then,  giving 
a  single  glance  at  Olivia,  whose  color  had  been  great  1  v  heightened 
by  her  emotions  during  the  scene,  he  was  about  to  leave  the 
scaffolding,  when  the  words  of  the  Adelantado  reached  his  ears, 
— not  spoken  aloud,  but  rather  as  if  giving  expression  to  a  feel- 
ing  which  he  could  no  longer  suppress,  and  which  was  stronger 
than  his  policy : 

"  Now,  would  I  give  my  best  steed  could  Vasco  Porcallos 
maintain  himself  to  the  overthrow  of  this  Portuguese  cavalier. 
It  were  shame  to  the  lances  of  Spain  should  he  bear  away  the 
palm;  and  1  would  gladly  see  that  arrogance  rebuked,  vvliieh  hut 
too  much  distinguishes  this  stranger.  Were  it  not  for  the  j><»<i- 


TORMENTS   OF   JEALOUSY  231 

don  which   I  hold,  I  should   myself  take  up  lance,  and   mount 
steed  in  this  combat '.'' 

"  To  be  thyself  overcome,"  was  the  secret  thought  of  Andres 
de  \ '..v, -onselos,  which  he  found  it  difficult  to  suppress.     Hernan 
•  If  S,,to  had  not  noticed  the  near  neigborhood  of  the  younger  of 
the  two  Portuguese  knights,  as  ho  made  his  indisenvt   remark  ; 
but   Balthazar  <lc  Alvaro  was  well    aware  of  his  presence.      II 
saw,  too,  the  meaning  of  that  fierce  glance  which  flashed  from 
the  eyes  of  Andres,   when   the  speech  of  the  Adelantado 
made.     It  was  his  policy  to  divert  the  anger  of  Andres  de  Vas- 
eooseloa   from  every  but  one  object,  and  he  quickly  remarked, 
still  seeming  not  to  perceive  the  youth  : 

"  It  were  no  easy  matter  to  wrest  the  victory  from  (his  knight 
of  Portugal,  at  this  moment.     There  are,  if  I  mistake  not,  bright 
-    in    this   asseml.lv,  the    favoring   smiles  of  which  will    arm 
him  with  invincible  power.      He  who  fights  in  the  sight  of  beauty 
A  ays  brave ;  but  he  who  fights  in  the  eyes  of  a  beloved  < 
at  the  same  time  looks  love  in  return,  is  uiu •i>n<[uerahlf." 

This  was  carelessly  said,  but  the  glance  of  the   uncle   led  the 
eyes  of  Andres  de  Vasconselos   to  the  spot  where  sate  the  ni- 
She  saw  nothing  but  the  one  presence  in  the  field ;  and   in   her 
ta.v,  more  than   ever  beautiful,  glowed  the  fires  of  an   affection 
which  was  not  to  be  misunderstood.     Her  cheek  was  no  lor 
sad    an  I    pale,   as  Andres  had   usually    beheld    it.     It  was  now 
flashed  with  an    emotion,  betraying  a  joy  and   a  triumph  which 
\\as  f.-r-ri'tful  wholly  of  itself.      Andres  followed  th-- direction  of 
her  eye,  and  he  siw  his  brother,  proud  and  eager,  with  visor  up 
lifted,  and  ga/ing.  with  the  most  intent  delight,  upon  the  beautiful 

•ure  whom  he   had   loved    in  vain.     Bitter  was  the 
his  heart,  and.  with  emotions  of  hate  and  envy,  which  could  not  be 
controlled,    he    da-h.  d    away    from    the    Stage,    and    disappeared 
among  th<-   pavilions    in    the    rear.      Balthazar  de  ANaro   beheld 
his  departure,  almost  the  only  one  of  the  assembly  who  did 
with  .t  keen  feeiini:  of  gratification. 

"II-    has  it!"   in  itten  d    the  wily  politician   to  himsrlf,  as   ho 
once  in,. re  addre.->-  d  h'  -he  business  of  the  tourney  : 


232  VASCOXSELOS. 

"  He  has  it — and  the  time  is  not  distant,  when  he  will  make 
another  feel  the  fury  of  that  dark  passion  which  is  working  in 
his  heart." 

Don  Balthazar  judged  rightly  of  the  feelings  of  Andres,  when 
he  allowed  his  own  nature  to  provide  the  standards  of  judgment 
Why  had  Andres  gone  to  his  pavilion  1  we  shall  see  hereafter. 
Enough,  that  he  summons  his  squire  to  his  aid  ;  that  he  cases 
himself  in  armor ;  that  he  bids  them  get  ready  his  destrier,  that 
he  buckles  sword  to  his  side,  and  shakes  aloft  the  heavy  lance, 
and  tries  its  burden  with  his  hards.  Let  us  leave  him,  at d  re 
turn  to  the  amphitheatre. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

1  Gashing  of  sword*.      Brother  opposed  to  brother  I 
Here  is  no  fencing  at  half  sword.     Hold  I  hold  I" 

BKACHO.TT  AXD  Puraaoe. 

THIS  episode,  between   parties  not  mingling  with  the  action, 

offered  ii' >  obstruction  to  the  progress  of  the  tourney.     The  pre 
parations  still  went  on  for  the  pas<age-at-anns  between  our  knight 
of  the  Falcon,  and   the   redoubtable  millionaire,   Don  V;i 
These  irere   soon   completed,  and    the  knight 
their  places.      "  Lai>-ez  aller!"     The  signal  being  given,  the  two 
champions    dashed    forward    to    the    encounter  with   a    desperate 
speed  that  threatened  to  annihilate  both  combatants.     Tln-iv  H-.-IS 
no  ivluctanec  in  tlu-  carriage   and   conduct  of  the    rich  cavalier, 
however  nival  mj,rht    have    been   his   secret    iiii-i:iviji«;i.      While 
he,  no  doubt,  'ji;  Wa  own  r  nf  skill  and  strength 

against  an  opj.oiient  who  had  always  proved  himself  m<>-t  formi 
dable,    yet   the  doubts  of    P«>n  V.-i  .-it.nrd  any 
in  1'i^   bosom.      lie  \\  ,.  lirave  oiiough  when   tin-   trial  was 
to  be    made.      II          .      :i  ,)    de-tined  to  be  sncce^ful,  but  !. 

of  the  Tnorti.'ieations  ,  A  mMortune  liap. 

to    him.  while   in    mid    Otreer,  which   probably 
corpulent    cavalier  fr. .in   a   much  worse   evil.      11  \vhi.  h 

8  hiirh-spirited  a>  he  was    pr.werful.  tn.d    iihoii    t 
fa  broken  lance  which  had  been  partlv  bu: 

'.ds   of  the    arena.      'Hie    -harp  point  of  t!; 
toiiclh-d  the  ijuick  <.f  the   aiiimal's  f  ,ot.  and.  with  a  >nort  - 
n»r.  lie  wliedcd  ab,  nit  at  the  \-(  ry  moment  \\lxn  the  la;1 
have  crossed,      lie  b  -iddt-nly  nninana^eabl  •. 

lightning,  as  h.    beheld   the  straits  of  his  opponent,  the  knight  of 


234  VASCONSELOS. 

Portugal  elevated  his  own  lance,  and,  having  full  control  of  his 
steed,  drew  him  suddenly  up,  arresting  him  in  his  full  speed  so 
admirably,  that  he  stood  quivering  upon  the  spot ;  the  unexpended 
impulse  which  he  had  received  now  shaking  him  as  with  an  ague. 
In  another  instant,  Philip  de  Vasconselos  was  on  his  feet,  and 
had  grasped  the  bridle  of  the  unmanageable  steed  of  his  rival, 
which,  by  this  time,  was  in  a  state  of  fury,  occasioned  by  the 
agony  of  his  hu^t,  which  threatened  momently  to  unseat  his 
rider.  The  timely  service  enabled  Don  Vasco  to  alight,  and 
gratefully  acknowledging  the  assistance  rendered,  he  at  the  same 
time  acknowledged  himself  vanquished.  The  courtesy  of  his 
opponent,  indeed,  had  alone  spared  him  this  misfortune.  Don 
Philip  gracefully  rejected  this  acknowledgment,  and,  ascribing 
the  event  solely  to  the  sufferings  of  his  rival's  horse,  proposed 
that  Don  Vasco  should  find  another.  But,  by  this  time,  the 
chivalrous  feelings  of  the  latter  had  somewhat  subsided.  lie  felt 
much  less  enthusiastic  than  before,  and  was  rather  pleased  now 
at  a  means  of  evasion,  which,  while  it  lost  him  the  final  honor  of 
the  day,  at  K-ast  left  him  in  possession  of  the  credit  which  he  had 
acquired  in  the  previous  passages.  The  knight  of  the  Falcon 
remounted  his  own  steed,  and  resumed  his  place  within  the  lists. 
He  stood  alone,  and  in  expectation.  No  champion  stood  before 
him,  challenging  the  triumph  which  he  had  won, — the  crowning 
triumph  of  the  field.  There  was  a  sudden  and  deep  silence 
throughout  the  assembly.  The  feeling  was  everywhere  adverse 
to  his  claims  and  expectations;  and  it  was  with  something  <»f 
contempt,  not  unmixed  with  bitterne^.  that  our  knight  of  Por 
tugal  was  reminded  of  the  national  prejudice,  which  felt  reluc 
tant  to  do  justice  to  the  a<-hie\ •••MI. -nt  ;  of  the  stranger.  There 
was  no  other  reason  for  the  silenre  ami  forbearance  of  Don 
Hernan  de  Soto,  who,  in  the  case  of  a  Castilian  champion,  or 
in  that  of  one  to  whom  he  felt  no  personal  prejudice,  would,  no 
doubt,  have  promptly  ris'n  in  his  place,  and  summoned  the  suc 
cessful  knight  forward,  to  choose  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty, 
and  to  receive  the  chaplct  of  honor  at  her  hands.  Then-  was  no 
reason  why  the  award  should  not  be  promptly  made.  There 


A   NEW   CHAMPION.  235 

was  n<>  challenge  pending.  No  opponent  had  announced  himself 
for  tin-  combat.  All  who  had  presented  themselves  had  been 
disposed  of.  Yet  the  knight  of  the  Falcon  was  allowed  to  stand 
in  waiting,  unemployed,  alone,  for  a  space  of  several  minutes, 
not  a  word  being  spoken  to  him,  and  a  dead  silence  hanging  over 
the  multitude,  significantly  declaring  the  general  reluctance  to 
make  th«  y  award.  In  the  silence  of  the  crowd,  De  Soto 

felt  his  justification.  But  the  gallant  Xuno  de  Tobar,  who  had, 
bv  this  time,  joined  the  ladies  about  the  Adelantado,  warmly 
interposed  to  demand  that  justice  should  be  done  to  the  eommer- 
ing  champion.  It  was  with  a  cold  severity  of  look  that  De  Soto 
prepared  to  comply  with  a  requisition  which  he  could  not  longer 
q>e  with  decency,  when  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro  interposed. 

••  But  a  moment  more,  your  excellency." 

u  \Vheivf..iv  .'"  demanded  Tobar.     "Will  you  keep  the  knight 
of  Portugal  in  waiting  all  day,  without  a  ea 

••  Let   him  wait!"  Soto,  sharply,  though   in  subdued 

"Thi-  warder  hath  a  rea-on  for  it." 
Balthazar  whispered  to  Tobar: 

"There  is  cause,      The,  tourney  is   not  yet   ended.     There  is 
.noth'T  ehalleiiLr T.      He  will  soon  appear/1 

"  Ha!  wh 

How  did    Don    Baltha/.ar  know  that   there  was    another  chal- 
The  .simple  Nuno  de  Tobar  himsrlf  n.-ver  dream. -d  of 
it;   still    less   did    he   conjecture  in  what   guise   the    new  claimant 
for  the   laurels    >lu>uld    appear.      At    that    moment,  silencing  all 
further  conversation  and  -peculation,  a  sudden  sharp  flourish  from 
a  trumpet  without  awakened    Philip  do  Vascon^el.  >  • 
viction  that  hi>  crown  wa-  n»t  •ecure.      1>.  this  tim 
had  become  Mifliciently  embittered  for  geiiuin.  d  a  ival 

conflict.      He  turned  hi  M  he  heard  the  tread  of 

the    ap| •:  ler,  and    bcht  Id  eiin-rgiiiLr  into  the   amphi 

theatre  tlie  t"»rm  of  Andres  his  brother. 

of  extreme    arrow  and  mortifi  ;  he  elder  brother. 

moment  h«-  b.-h.-lj  him,  i'hilij)  muttered  to  hiniM-lf,  closing  hi» 
viaor: 


236  VASCONSELOS. 

"  Thou  too,  my  brother  !     Thou  hast  then  joined  with  mine 
enemies — ay,  and  thy  enemies  too— against  me  !" 

The  visor  of  Andres  was  already  closed,  and  Philip  could  not 
behold  ms  face  ;  but  he  could  readily  conjecture  the  crimson 
flush  which  covered  it, — the  usual  sign  of  his  intemperate  pas 
sion.  He  had  been  somewhat  surprised,  that  Andres  had  taken 
no  part  in  the  tournament  before ;  but  the  feeling  was  not  one 
of  regret,  since,  as  we  have  seen,  he  had  already  entertained  som> 
misgivings  that  his  brother  might  take  the  field  against  himself. 
We  have  not  forgotten  the  fierce  dialogue  which  had  taken  place 
between  them  on  this  subject.  Of  course,  Philip  de  Yasconselos 
entertained  no  personal  apprehensions  from  the  encounter.  His 
pride  was  in  no  way  alarmed,  lest  he  should  meet  with  over 
throw,  in  the  passage-at-arms  with  his  brother.  Indeed,  to  speak 
plainly,  Philip  knew  too  well  Ins  own  superiority  of  training, 
art,  and  muscle;  though  the  vanity  of  Andres  was  such  that  lie 
had  persuaded  himself  to  a  very  different  estimate  of  their  mu 
tual  powers.  He  was  yet  to  be  taught  a  better  knowledge,  of 
their  disparity.  The  reluctance  of  Philip  to  engage  in  such  a- 
contest,  even  though  the  tournament  implied  neither  strife  nor 
malice,  was  based  upon  his  just  knowledge  of  human  nature; 
upon  his  thorough  experience  in  respect  to  the  mood  and  char 
acter  of  Andres — his  passionate  blood  ;  his  disappointments  of 
heart;  his  jealousy  of  the  superior  influence  and  reputation  of 
his  brother.  We  can  readily  divine  the  several  reasons  which 
governed  Philip  in  his  anxiety  to  escape  a  conflict,  in  regard  to 
which  he  yet  entertained  no  fears.  Now  that  they  stood  con 
fronted,  and  the  contest  was  inevitable,  he  endeavored  to  calm 
his  own  blood,  and  control  his  temper,  somewhat  excited  by  the; 
circumstances  which  had  marked  his  treatment  by  the  Adclan 
tado  and  the  assembly.  But  this  was  not  so  difficult.  Tin-  re 
ception  of  Andres,  by  the  audience,  was  of  a  sort  to  kindle  in 
the  elder  brother  a  sentiment  of  passionate  indignation,  as  it 
declared  how  grateful  to  the  common  feeling  would  lie  hN  over 
throw.  The  multitude  hailed  the  entry  of  the  new  champion 
with  the  wildest  plaudits,  not  simply  as  he  promised  to  prolong 


OLIVIA'S  EMOTIONS.  237 

their  sports,  but  as  he  afibrded  still  another  chance  for  the  d- 
of  the    person    whose-    triumph   had    chafed    tlie    national   p: 
It  was  true  that,  even  if  Andres  should    succeed    against    J  'ii'dip, 
the  honor  would  be  lost  to  Castile;   but   to  this    finality,    lln-ir 
vision  did   not  extend.     All   that   they   now   required  was    the 
defeat  of  the  one  cavalier,  to  whom  their  own  favorites  had  been 
compelled  to  succumb. 

There  was  >till  another  reason  for  the  excitement  of  the  mul 
titude,  on  the  unexpected   appearance  of  Andres  de  Ya>c«»n.-, 
It  is  a  curious  fact,  that   the  instincts  of  the  vulgar   rareh   err  in 
ropcct  to  the  passions  which  goad  and  afllict  the  natures  of  dis 
tinguished  men.     The  common  people  seem  readily  to  conjecture 
in  what   points  superiority  is  weak.     They  all   knew,  by  sure  in 
stinct,  that  the  brothers  were  rivals.     They  had  seen  and   h. 
enough,  touching   their   mutual   attachment   to  the  fair  beauty, 
Olivia  de  Alvaro,  to  imagine   that    the  approaching    conflict 
to  be  marked    by  other  feelings   than   those  of  chivalrous   ambi 
tion,  and    the   pride  that   looks  only  to  the  momentary  triumph. 
They  guessed   all    the  bitter  vexation    that   stimulated    the  one 
champion,  and   they  inferred    like   feelings    in    the   bosom  of  the 
other.      And  the  two  were  to  tight  in  the  presence  of  tin-  woman 
whom  they  both   loved.      A  thousand   eyes  turned   involuntarily 
to  where  <  Mivia  sate,  pah-  and  breathless  with  anxiety  and  appre 
hension.      Sli.-,  too,  partook  of  the  convictions  of  the  multitude. 
They   were-  brothers  ;   they  were  rivals  ;   and    she   had    iva-on    to 
fear  that    they  \sereeiiemies.      She   had    heard  of     !i>-    separation 
of  their  tents;   and  that  there  had   already  been   sharp  words  be 
tween    them.      And    now  they  stood,  face    to    face,  front i:  g    each 
other  with    sharp  weapon*.      What   had    she   not    to   fear  .' 
very  manner    in   wfaioh  Andres  de  VftSOOOSelCM    appeared    \vi-hin 
the    field  ;    the    moment    chosen,  when    his   elder    brother  u,. 
full  i  !i  of  the  victory  ;   when    but  a  moment  wa-   needed 

to  atl'ord   him    the  laurel  crown  for  which  he  had    striven! 
was  a  circumstance    full  of  significance.      That    Andres   had    n«»t 

sought  the  conflict  with  other  champions,  or  prc\inu-i 

period,  was  a  sufficient  proof  that  iu  honor*  were  not  Uie  <>bj.  --U 


238  VASCONSELOS. 

of  his  desire.  Why  should  he  take  the  field  now,  unless  with 
the  aim  to  pluck  them  from  the  brow  of  his  brother  1  It  was  a 
bad  passion —hate,  revenge,  anything  but  an  honorable  ambition 
— which  prompted  his  appearance  now,  at  the  last  moment. 

Olivia  thought  all  these  things.  Such  were  the  thoughts  of 
Philip  also.  But  he  strove  to  restrain  and  silence  them ;  and,  in 
the  brief  interval  allov  ed  him,  his  inward  struggle  was  to  subdue 
himself, — to  keep  his  own  bad  passions  in  subjection,  and  to  offer 
no  such  provocation  to  those  of  his  brother,  as  would  place  him 
entirely  beyond  control  of  human  reason.  He  resolved  to  be 
forbearing  in  all  respects.  But  this  did  not  imply  that  he  would 
forego  any  of  his  resources  of  skill  or  strength  in  the  conflict. 
He  was  not,  by  any  means,  to  yield  his  claims  to  the  honors  of 
the  field,  in  favor  of  any  opponent.  On  this  point  he  was  reso 
lute  ;  and,  thus  resolved,  it  became  him,  if  he  would  effect  his 
triumph,  and  avoid  giving  unnecessary  provocation,  or  inflicting 
mortification  upon  his  brother,  that  he  should  maintain  the  cool 
est  temper,  and  suffer  nothing  to  disturb  his  passions.  It  re 
quired  some  effort  to  do  this,  for  he  had  felt  bitterly  his  isolation 
in  the  last  few  moments, — a  feeling  sadly  increased,  when,  as  he 
phrased  it,  his  own  brother  had  joined  his  enemies  against  him. 

We  must  not  allow  it  to  be  supposed  that  the  Adelantado 
beheld  the  opening  of  the  new  issue  between  these  parties,  with 
out  being  somewhat  sensible  to  the  strangeness  of  its  aspects. 
1 1  is  instincts,  too,  were  at  work;  and  remembering  to  have 
heard  of  the  quarrel  between  the  brothers,  he  began  to  think 
there  was  something  unnatural  in  the  approaching  combat.  His 
conscience  reproached  him  for  the  ungenerous  delay  which  had 
kept  Philip  de  Vasconsc-los  from  the  crown  of  victory,  and  af- 
fnH'-d  the  opportunity  for  the  event,  of  the  results  and  character 
of  \vhirh  he  had  grown  apprehensive;  and  he  looked  dubiously 
at  tin-  warder  of  the  field,  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro,  and  for 

:hc  fir-t  ti frit  suspicious  of  those  motives,  on  his  part,  which 

had  moved  him  to  urge  the  delay  in  closing  the  lists.  But  there 
was  now  no  moment  for  arrest  and  interposition,  unless  by  the 
exercise  of  a  seemingly  arbitrary  authority,  which  would  show 


KN COUNTER.  239 

ongraeiously  in  all  eyes.  Accordingly,  the  affair  was  suffered  to 
go  on.  Roth  champions  were  already  prepared  for  it. 

Andres  de  Vasconselos,  as  we  have  already  described  hin\ 
was  a  hand-ome  and  vigorous  vmth,  well  made,  of  considerable 
muscle  and  agility,  well  skilled  in  anus,  an  admirable  rider,  and 
utterly  tearless  of  soul.  II  lounted  on  a  fine  blooded 

mare,  of  great  hardihood  and  lit'.'.  His  armor,  though  sombre 
also,  was  more  gay  than  that  of  his  brother,  and  he  wore  a  rieh 
ehain  of  gold,  with  a  medallion  pendant,  around  his  gorget.  A 
gay  crimson  si-art*  cn.-sed  his  bosom,  and  contrasted  effectively 
with  his  sable  armor.  His  shield  was  very  much  like  that  of 
his  brother  ;  and  crest  and  deviec  equally  declared  that  haughty 
ambition,  which,  in  that  day,  marked  pretty  equally  the  Spanish 
and  Portuguese  adventurer.  It  bore  for  figure,  a  shower  of 
meteors  amidst  eloud  and  storm,  with  the  Latin  words — "Inter 
turbas  illnstris  " — "  Glory  amidst  the  storm."  He  was  certainly 
the  man  to  prefer  always  that  his  si:  ;iould  be  the  fruits 

of  the  ]\K^(  unmeasured  conflict.  But  we  need  linger  no  more 
in  our  preliminaries.  The  signal  sounds;  the  truncheon  of  the 
warder  i>  wared  aloft ;  the  trumpet  sounds  the  charge;  the 
heralds  cry  their  encouragement. 

"To  it,  gallant  gentlemen!   honor  awaits   br.i\  ;   your 

ladie^  look  on  \«»u  with  smiles.  Glory  is  for  him  that  conquers, 
— 'Glory  amid  the  storm  '—  The  falcon  has  her  wings;  why 
should  he  in  it  soar  to  the  heights  of  g' 

The--,  and  a  hundred  other  cries,  from  the  audience  as  well 
as  the  neralds,  rang  throughout  the  amphitheatre,  as  the  brothers, 
parting  from  their  places,  rushed  to  the  encounter  with  a  shock 
that  thundeivd  along  the  ,-arth.  Th.-  lance-  were  shiver,  d  fa. 
mou-ly  ;  new  ones  were  <upplied  in  a  moment;  again,  the  wild 
rush  wa-  heard,  rather  tha-  •  md  again  came  the  fearful 

eoncu-sion.  The  lane.-s  \\.rc  a'jain  -hivered  at  the  encounter, 
but  it  \\  1  that  Andres  de  Va>conselos  was  nearly  un 

seated    in   the  -h<>ck.      In   truth,  he  had  a  narrow  61  i  he 

felt   it  ;  and   his  anger  .nd.  as  he  stood   a_ 

confronting  his  opponent,  a  bitterer  feeling  of  hostility  than  he 


240  VASCONSELOS. 

had  known  before,  worked  within  his  bosom ;  and  his  teeth  were 
gnashed  together ;  and  grasping  the  new  spear  with  which  he 
nad  been  furnished,  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  shook  it  aloft, 
— "  If  thou  fail  me,  I  will  look  to  surer  weapon." 

The  third  passage  was  waited  for  with  great  impatience  by  the 
multitude.  The  previous  combats  seemed  to  have  been  mere 
child's  play  to  these.  Every  one  felt  that  the  present  passages 
were  marked  by  passion  much  more  serious  than  those  of  chiv- 
alric  courtesy,  even  when  stimulated  by  ambition,  or  urged 
by  the  desire  of  doing  greatly  in  the  eyes  of  love  and  beauty. 
The  spectators  were  now  hushed  and  breathless.  The  occasional 
cries  of  the  heralds,  repeating  the  old  formulas  of  encouragement, 
seemed  very  unmeaning  sounds  in  respect  to  such  a  conflict. 
They  were  felt  almost  as  impertinences ;  and,  indeed,  by  this 
time,  the  heralds  themselves  seemed  to  arrive  at  this  opinion,  for 
they  suddenly  became  silent.  All  now  was  eager  expectation. 
The  signal  followed,  and  the  passage.  There  was  the  same 
fearful  concussion,  as  before ;  the  clouds  of  dust ;  the  confusion. 
But  the  results  were  more  decided,  and  the  encounter  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  wild,  sharp  cry,  full  of  rage  and  fury.  Soon,  Philip 
de  Vasconselos  emerged  out  of  the  dust-cloud,  and  coursed  once 
round  the  ring ;  a  moment  after,  Andres  was  beheld,  on  foot, 
with  his  battle-axe  in  his  hand,  and  darting  after  his  brother  with 
the  ferocity  and  speed  of  a  tiger.  The  steed  of  the  younger 
knight  was  down,  rolling  over  in  the  sand  ;  by  what  hurt  or  ac 
cident,  no  one  could  conjecture.  He,  himself,  had  all  the  action 
of  a  madman.  His  fine  scarf  was  riven  ;  his  armor  covered  with 
dust,  and  his  helmet  thrown  off.  His  hair,  which  was  long, 
floated  wildly  ;  his  lure  was  crimson  with  passion,  and  his  ryes 
glared  with  u  fury  which  threatened  to  destroy  everything  in  his 
path.  Il<-  made  headlong  way  towards  Don  Philip,  who  had 
now  drawn  up  his  steed,  and  stood  quietly,  if  not  calmly,  awaii 
ing  him  at  the  barriers,  which  was  as  far  bark  as  he  could  re 
cede.  Here  he  must  stop  and  encounter  what  should  happen, 
if  he  would  not  incur  the  di-ji:  ming  to  fly,  which  would 

have  befallen  him   should  he  again   put  his  horse  in  motion   to 


A  BROTHER'S  STRIFE.      .  241 

escape  from  further  assault.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  Blinded 
with  rage  and  mortification,  Andres  soon  made  up  to  him,  and 
at  once  sprang  towards  him,  swinging  the  battle-axe  above  his 
head.  Then  it  was  that  Philip  exhibited,  in  highest  degree,  the 
wonderful  spirit  and  activity  which  he  possessed.  In  an  instant 
he  threw  himself  off  from  his  steed,  and,  without  weapon  of  any 
kind  in  his  grasp,  confronted  his  brother.  The  latter  at  first 
i  not  to  perceive  the  unarmed  condition  of  Don  Philip, 
and  all  expected  that  he  would  strike,  from  the  manner  in  which 
he  -hook  his  battle-axe  and  pushed  forward.  But,  seeing  ere  he 
struck  that  his  brother  was  unarmed,  he  cried  out  hoarsely — 

"  Get  thee  thy  weapons !" 

"  Put  down  thine,  Andres  !"  was  the  calm  reply  of  Don 
Philip — "  wherefore  this  mad'. 

"  Madness '/'  cried  Don  Andres  ;  "  if  thou  darest  call  me  a 
madman,  I  will  brain  thee  as  thou  stand'st !  Get  thy  weapons,  I 
tell  thee;  thy  triumph  is  not  complete.  There  must  be  other 
trials  between  us  !" 

"  Go  to,  Andres  :  thou  art  foolish  ;  thou  art  fevered  !  would'st 
thou  strike  at  thy  brother  in  anger  ?" 

"  I  see  no  brother  ;  I  know  no  brother  !  I  know  thee  as  mine 
enemy  only,  and  I  will  slay  thee  as  a  dog.  Thou  shall  have  no 
triumph  over  me  /" 

With    th-  .Mate  words,  Allowing    him    entirely  beyond 

control    of  iva^m,  hi-   at   once  strode  forward,  and  struck,  with 

deadly  and  determined  aim  and  stroke,  full  at  the  ored  «>f  Don 

Philip!   But    tlie   latti-r  was    prepared   and  watchful,  though    un- 

1  Ie  lightly  stepped  a>ide  from  the  blow,  which  was  >u.-h, 

If  it  had   i-nronntrivd    his   head,  had    certainly  brought  him 

powerful  as  he  was.    Il<-  rtepped  aside  and  escaped  it; 

the  younger  brother  could  ree,.\cr  his  position,  he  gj 
him  by  the  arm  ;  and  with  such  a  vigor  as   no  one   deemed  him 
to  possess,  h<-  mreetod  ih  tfc       --.isp  <>?  'he    infuriate 

\outh.  with  a-  little  teeming  .-llort  as  if  the  latter  had  b.-eii  only 
a  child  in  his   hands.      All   this    oeeupied  fir   less   time  than  we 
have  employed  in  telling  it;   but  the  interval  had  been  sufficient 
11 


242  VASCONSELOS. 

to  have  allowed  the  warder  of  the  field  to  have  thrown  down 
his  truncheon  if  he  had  pleased  to  do  so,  and  for  the  heralds  and 
guards  to  have  interposed.  Nuno  de  Tobar  had  entreated  Don 
Balthazar  to  arrest  the  combat  when  it  promised  to  be  bloody, 
but  he  was  unheeded. 

"  There  is  danger,  I  tell  thee,  Don  Balthazar !  Don  Andres 
hath  no  control  of  himself  in  his  passion,  and  see  you  not  tl  », 
the  victory  already  rests  with  Don  Philip  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  the  other — "  three  strokes  may  be  taken  with 
the  sword  or  battle-axe,  according  to  the  wishes  of  the  combat 
ants,  after  the  passage  with  the  lance." 

"  Only  where  the  passage  with  the  lance  results  in  no  advan 
tage  to  either,"  was  the  reply  of  Tobar. 

"Yet,  I  see  not  why  they  should  be  checked  in  a  new  passage, 
if  the  parties  desire  it." 

"  But  Don  Philip,  you  perceive,  does  not  desire  it." 

"Then,  by  my  troth,  he  loses  some  of  his  renown  as  a  war- 
rior.  He  should  face  his  foe  with  any  weapon." 

Nuno  de  Tobar  was  furious  at  these  words,  and  greatly  appre 
hensive;  and  his  passion  might  have  exploded  in  a  violent 
challenge  of  the  justice  and  magnanimity  of  the  Adelantado 
himself,  to  whom  he  now  turned  in  impatient  appeal,  when  he 
was  arrested  by  the  sudden  termination  of  the  combat,  as  wo 
have  described  it.  The  next  moment  beheld  Don  Andres  dis 
armed,  and  the  battle-axe  in  the  grasp  of  his  brother.  Thru  it  was 
that  Don  Balthazar  threw  down  his  truncheon,  and  the  trumpets 
sounded  the  retreat.  But  Don  Andres  heeded  not  these  signals. 
He  confronted  Don  Philip  with  a  passion  as  reckless  as  before,  but 
this  time  with  the  feelingsof  despair  and  shame,  rather  than  of  rage 
and  hate. 

"  Slay  me  !  "  he  cried,  "  strike,  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  as  at 
thy  enemy  !  Thou  hast  the  weapon.  Thou  hast  disgraced  me 
eternally.  Put  a  finish  to  thy  work.  Smite  !  my  head  is  un 
covered  to  thy  blow  !  " 

"Go  to,  Andres;  this  is  folly  ;  thou  hast  fever  in  thy  veins, 
my  brother.  It  is  the  madness  of  thy  blood,  not  thy  heart,  that 


THE    END    OF   THE    CONTEST.  248 

has  wrought  thee  to  this  unhappy  conduct.  I  cannot  harm  thee, 
Andres.  I  love  thee,  my  brother,  whatever  thou  ma*'*st  do,  or 
feel,  <jr  say  !  " 

With  these  words,  Philip  flung  the  battle-axe  to  a  distance. 
Andres  cast  himself  down,  with  his  face  upon  the  earth  ;  but,  as 
tin-  heralds  and  squires  came  up,  he  rose  again  quietly,  and  suf 
fered  himself  to  be  led  out.  He  wa^  buriic  away  with  a  raging 
fever  in  his  veins,  and  that  night  was  in  high  delirium. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

We  charge  the§«  women  leave  the 
Lest  they  should  swoon." 

.  —  THK  OLD  LA  9 


effect  of  this  scene  was  prodigious  upon  the  whole  assem* 
bly.  Its  events  were  just  of  that  sort  to  fill  the  minds  and  excite 
the  imaginations  of  such  a  swelling,  earnest,  grave  yet  passionate 
people  as  the  Spaniards  ;  and,  for  awhile,  they  were  all  hushed, 
as  if  overwhelmed  with  emotion,  and  still  expecting  other  events 
of  even  greater  excitement  to  follow.  They  were  conquered  by 
the  Portuguese.  The  deportment  of  Philip  de  Vasconselos  had 
been  such  as  to  impress  every  spectator  with  the  full  sense 
of  his  noble  character  and  perfect  heroism,  and  there  were 
none  now  so  bold  as  to  challenge  his  triumph  or  his  lame  ! 
Verily,  he  had  gone  through  the  most  fearful  of  all  trials  for  such 
a  soul.  He  had  survived  them,  though  he  suffered  from  them 
still.  He  had  overcome  those  worst  enemies,  his  own  passions, 
which,  wronged  on  every  hand,  and  fiercely  assailed  by  the  one, 
above  all  others,  who  should  have  approached  them  with  nothing 
but  love  and  veneration,  had  been  able  to  subdue  themselves 
within  just  limits,  and  permitted  him  to  rise  equally  above  his 
enemies  and  his  own  rebellious  blood  !  This  was  not  lost  upon  the 
spectators.  Their  hush  was  only  the  prelude  to  their  applause. 
Their  instincts,  kept  in  lively  play  all  the  while,  and  making  them 
forgetful  of  all  their  former  dislikes  and  jealousies,  hail  brought.  their 
final  judgments  right.  Their  souls,  as  they  brhdd.  brraine  fully 
conscious  of  the  rare  beauty  of  his  carriage  and  his  performances 


DON  PHILIP'S  TRIUMPH.  246 

throughout ;  and  the  gentle  humanity,  which,  at  the  closing 
scene,  had  appeared  so  conspicuously  in  unison  with  the  most 
determined  courage  and  the  coolest  conduct.  The  wildest  shouts 
testified  their  admiration,  and  declared  the  complete  triumph  of 
the  hi  TO  of  the  day,  not  only  over  all  opponents,  but  over  their 
own  stubborn  and  ungenerous  prejudices.  They  did  not  see  the 
bitter  smile  that  mantled  the  face  of  Philip  as  he  heard  these  up 
roars  of  admiration.  He  knew  the  value  of  popular  applause, 
and  quietly  remounting  his  steed,  he  stood  in  silence  waiting  for 
the  summons  of  the  warder,  to  the  foot  of  the  dais,  where  the 
Adelantado  was  to  place  the  crown  upon  the  lance  of  the  con 
queror,  who  was  required,  in  turn,  to  lay  it  at  the  foot  of  the 
lady  whom  he  should  designate  as  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty. 
It  was  her  task  to  accept  the  tribute,  and,  lifting  up  the  trophy  so 
deposited,  to  place  it  on  the  head  of  her  champion. 

There  was  no  reluctance,  now,  on  the  part  of  the  Adelantado, 
to  do  justice  to  the  knight  of  the  Falcon.  De  Soto,  it  is  true, 
had  his  prejudices  as  well  as  his  people ;  and  his  pride  had  been 
somewhat  stung  by  the  reserve  which  had  been  exhibited  towards 
him  by  Philip  de  Vasconselos ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  offence 
which  the  latter  had  given,  in  announcing  his  doubts  in  respect  to 
his  farther  connection  with  the  expedition  to  Florida.  But, 
though  a  proud  and  selfish  person,  De  Soto  was  not  a  base  one. 
He  had  his  moments  of  prejudice  and  passion,  but  was  by  no 
means  insensible  to  greatness  of  soul  and  heroic  character,  even 
in  the  instance  of  an  enemy.  He  was  thoroughly  disarmed  by 
the  conduct  of  Philip;  and  some  compunctious  visiting*  Of  con- 
seirnce  now  made  him  anxious  to  atone,  as  far  as  possible,  by 
the  moxt  prompt  acknowledgment,  for  his  past  coldness  and  ne 
glect.  He  bade  the  warder  do  his  duty,  and,  at  a  signal  given, 
and  amidst  a  passionate  fnnfarr.  from  the  whole  corps  of  trum 
peters,  the  knight  of  the  Fall -on  was  led  up  to  the  foot  of  th»  •</<//>. 
Here  h'  dismounted,  uncovered  his  head,  ascended  the  rude 
which  had  been  hastily  plueed  tor  the  purpose,  and  pre 
sented  his  lance  at  the  bidding  of  De  Soto,  who,  in  a  warm  and 
graceful  speech,  of  a  few  sentences,  placed  upon  it  the  trophy  as- 


246  7ASCONSELOS. 

signed  to  the  conqueror.  This  was  a  beautiful  coronet,  or  cap, 
of  rich  purple  velvet,  encircled  with  a  chaplet  of  pearls,  in  the 
centre  of  which  flamed  a  single  but  large  diamond,  surrounded 
by  rubies  and  other  precious  stones.  Don  Philip  received  the 
prize  with  the  most  graceful  obeisance,  but  in  profound  silence , 
then  advancing  to  the  foot  of  the  seat  occupied  by  Olivia  de  Al- 
varo,  he  knelt,  and  laid  the  coronet  before  her,  dropping  his  lance 
at  the  same  moment  beside  him.  Again  the  trumpets  sounded 
in  a  soft  but  capricious  Saracenic  strain,  while  the  heralds  cried 
aloud  the  name  of  the  lady  ;  and  De  Soto,  rising,  proclaimed 
her  the  Queen  and  Beauty  of  the  tournament.  We  shall  say 
nothing  of  the  envy  sparkling  all  the  while  in  the  eyes  of  the 
other  fair  dames  in  that  fair  assemblage  ;  in  the  breast  of  each 
of  whom,  no  doubt,  there  had  lurked  hopes  more  or  less  lively, 
during  the  progress  of  the  day.  However  slight  then*  hopes, 
when  it  was  seen  who  was  to  be  the  successful  champion,  we  can 
still  easily  understand  how  there  should  be  many  disappoint 
ments.  Of  course,  there  was  much  criticism,  also,  upon  the  choice 
of  the  knight  of  Portugal ;  and  while  most  of  them  could  ad 
mit  cheerfully  his  superior  claims  as  a  warrior, — his  skill,  spirit, 
and  address,  in  the  tourney, — there  were  not  a  few  to  regret 
that  so  much  heroism  should  be  accompanied  by  so  very  l>a<l  a 
taste.  But  the  multitude  applauded  the  taste,  no  less  than  the 
valor  and  conduct  of  the  knight. 

It  was  now  the  task  of  Olivia  de  Alvaro  to  place  the  coronet 
on  the  brows  of  her  champion.  This  was  no  easy  task,  however 
grateful.  She  had  been  an  excited  spectator  of  the  scene  ;  she 
had  felt,  with  constant  tremblings  of  heart  and  frame,  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  conflict.  These  were  rendered  trebly  acute  in 
consequence  of  that  secret  history  of  grief  of  which  we  know 
something  already ;  the  action  of  which,  on  a  system  whose 
nerves  were  all  disordered,  was  of  a  sort  to  enfeeble  and  excite 
at  the  same  moment ;  so  that  but  little  strength  was  left  her  for 
the  performance  of  her  task  at  the  closing  scene  of  the  day.  But 
she  arose,  after  a  brief  delay  ;  the  Knight  of  the  Falcon  still  on 
hii  knees  before  her.  There  was  a  dead  silence  now  in  the  as- 


THE    QL'KKN    OK    LoVK    AND    BEAUTY.  247 

sembly.  All  were  curious  to  hear  \vh:it  she  would  say  ;  for  she 
was  not  simply  to  place  the  crown  upon  the  head  of  the  cham 
pion, — she  was  to  accompany  the  act  with  words  of  acceptance 
of  the  honor  conferred  upon  herself, — to  bestow  applause  upon 
his  performances,  and  to  utter  those  exhortations  to  future  deeds 
«»f  chivalry  and  valor,  which  are  supposed  naturally  to  follow, 
where  Beauty  encourages,  and  Love  is  the  gentle  counsellor. 
She  arose  slowly,  amid  that  general  hu-h  of  expectation,  which, 
by  the  way,  increased  her  confusion ;  stooped  to  the  crown  which 
rested  upon  the  footstool  where  Philip  had  laid  it;  lifted  it.  and 
advanced  a  step,  in  order  to  place  it  on  his  head.  At  this  mo 
ment  their  eyes  met ;  a  sudden  and  ashen  paleness  overspread 
her  cheeks;  her  heart,  beating  wildly  but  a  moment  before, 
seemed  at  once  frozen  within  her;  and  she  tottered,  sunk  fi.r- 
wards,  and  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor,  but  that  the  swift  arms 
of  her  lover  caught  and  sustained  her.  She  had  fainted  from  the 
conflict  of  emotions  which  she  cculd  no  longer  sustain  and  live  ! 


CHAPTER    XX. 

"  Invention  is  ashamed, 
Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  paMion, 
To  say  thou  dost  not    .    .    .        thy  cheek* 
Confess     one  to  the  other." 

ALL'S  Wnx  THAT  Euros  WILL. 

THEN  it  was,  while  all  was  commotion  in  the  assembly,  that 
the  passionate  love  of  Don  Philip  for  the  unconscious  damsel  in 
his  arms,  overcame  and  banished  all  the  previous  calm  and 
steadfastness  in  his  manner.  He  thought  her  dead.  There  was 
no  color  in  her  cheeks,  no  life  in  her  eyes,  no  pulsation  in  her 
veins.  He  cried  aloud  for  succor,  while  drawing  her  closely  to 
his  bosom,  as  if  to  warm  her  anew  with  his  own  tumultuous 
fires.  Before  any  one  could  interpose,  he  had  borne  her  back  to 
the  seat,  supporting  her  with  vigorous  arm,  and  appealing  to  her 
consciousness  by  the  most  endearing  efforts  and  expressions.  He 
was  at  that  moment  freed  from  all  the  conventional  restraints 
which  had  hitherto  made  his  passion  cautious,  and  taught  con 
cealment  as  the  proper  policy  of  love.  He  was  now  not  unwil 
ling  that  the  world  should  hear  what  he  had  hitherto  never  de 
clared  to  her,  and  with  the  sense  of  her  danger  and  his  loss,  he 
became  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  those  around,  a  regard  to 
which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  proud  and  sensitive  nature.  But 
he  was  not  suffered  long  to  indulge  in  a  situation  which  he  found 
so  painfully  sweet.  He  was  brought  to  consciousness  by  the  in 
terposition  of  other  persons.  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro  was  soon 
at  his  side,  and,  laying  his  hand  with  rather  a  rude  grasp  upon 
the  shoulder  of  our  knight,  he  bade  him  release  the  lady  to  those 
who  could  better  effect  her  restoration,  and  who  were  the  most 
proper  persons  to  attempt  it.  Next  came  the  wife  of  Tobar,  followed 
by  the  lady  of  the  Adelantado  and  others,  to  whom  Philip  was 

241 


ANDRE'S  ILLNESS.  249 

compelled  to  redgn  her.  To  these  he  yielded  her,  though  with 
reluctance.  He  shook  off  the  grasp  of  Don  Balthazar,  and  an- 
1  his  looks  and  words  with  an  abruptness  of  manner,  and  a 
glance  of  fire,  which  declared  the  hostility  and  scorn  which  he 
truly  frit,  and  in  which  the  uncle  was  taught  to  read  the  language 
of  defiance.  Olivia  was  borne  away  by  the  female  attendants. 
The  Lady  Isabella  would  have  had  her  conveyed  to  her  palaee. 
but  Don  Balthazar,  in  a  very  resolute  manner,  resists  1  this  ar 
ran^ement,  and  she  was  conveyed  at  once  to  his  own  residence. 
The  amusements  of  the  day  were  over.  The  trumpets  sounded  the 
retreat;  the  audience  slowly  melted  away;  but  long  before  the 
assembly  was  dispersed,  Philip  de  Vasconselos  had  disappeaied 
from  the  p;:i/iic  sight. 

II  •  prooeede  I  to  the  lodgings  of  his  brother,  but  did 

.  that  his  j  :  uotild    only    i:. 

the  dUorder  nf  the  latter.      IK-  a-certained,  however,  that  his  de 
lirium    and    fever    did    not    increase,  and  that    he    was    well    at 
tended.     The  phy.sieian  of  De  Soto  himself  had   been  sent  him, 
and  had   administered  some  soothing  drugs,   after   taking  from 
him  a  goodly  quantity  Of  blood.      He  still    remained    with    him, 
and  would  not  sutler  him  to  be  disturbed.     Tin-  attack  had  been 
;ddeii.  but  it  was  not  of  prolonged  duration;  and  judi- 
i  by  the  youth  and  viirorof  his  constitu 
tion,  enabled  him,  after  a  few  days,   to  rise  a«jain  to  his  feet.      In  a 
week  lie  \va<  able  to  re-nine   his  armor,   and    t<>    exeivise   at    the 
h-  ad  of  his  little  company.      Hut  lie  remained  comparatively  fee 
ble  for  some  time,  and  the    mortification    which  he  had,   Mitl'ered 
hung  like  a  dark  shadow  upon  Ids  sotiL     He  be.-ame  habitually 
;.   and  moro-e  ;  .-iddiv— ini:  him-elf  wholly  to  milita; 

-utfering  him>elf  to  in  so- 

vrtain  more  j  .  ,en»u9 

••  anU  hi-  brother,  though  from   this  period    the: 
no  longer  any  cordiality  between  them.     Tl.  .\hi.-h  w,-ro 

yet  to  occur    served,   in    «m  .  -m   him   of  that 

jealous  hostility  to  Philp  whieh  had  been   the  sole  cause   of  his 
recent  .       Philip,    though   solicitous  of  his   health    and 

11* 


250  VASCONSELOS. 

safety,  never  obtruded  himself  upon  him.     He  was  content  to 
leave  to  time  the  work  of  repair.     But  we  must  not  anticipate. 

The  recovery  of  Olivia  do  Alvaro  was  much  more  rapid  than 
that  of  her  rejected  lover.  What  remedies  were  employed 
in  her  case,  were  not  suffered  to  be  known ;  but  the  very  next  day 
found  her  able  to  sit  up  and  converse.  Leonora  de  Tobar  sate  some 
time  with  her.  Donna  Isabella  was  also  pleased  to  visit  her, 
and  other  ladies  shared  in  their  friendly  attentions.  Hut  while 
recovering  her  consciousness,  and  in  some  degree  her  health,  Olivia 
sank  into  a  sort  of  sober  melancholy,  which  no  arts  or  attentions 
of  her  female  companions  could  possibly  reach.  An  exterior  of  the 
most  stolid  indifference  encountered  the  friendly  solicitude  which 
sought  to  soothe  and  heal ;  and  while  her  deportment  was  all  gen 
tleness  and  meekness,  her  heart  was  yet  closed  against  all  efforts  to 
probe  its  secret,  or  ascertain  its  apprehensions  or  its  wants.  To  Le 
onora  cfe  Tobar  her  case  seemed  a  singularly  mysterious  one.  She 
knew  that  she  loved  Philip  de  Vasconselos  beyond  all  other  men. 
She  was  now  sure,  as  was  all  the  world,  that  he  loved  her  beyond 
all  other  women.  What  more]  Why  should  either  of  them  be  un 
happy  ?  The  whole  affair  was  very  incomprehensible  to  her,  and 
afforded  her  a  fruitful  and  constant  subject  for  expostulation  with 
the  sufferer,  and  speculation  with  all  other  parties. 

Don  Balthazar  was  the  only  person  who  properly  understood 
';he  whole  difficulty.  He  had  his  fears  of  the  case,  as  well  as  a 
full  knowledge  of  its  peculiarities.  His  hope  of  security,  strange 
to  say,  was  based  upon  what  he  knew  to  be  the  virtues  of  the 
damsel.  He  relied  wholly  upon  her  justice  and  magnanimity,  to 
defeat  the  suit  of  the  Knight  of  Portugal.  But  Ins  fears  were  still 
active.  lie  apprehended  that  the  weakness  of  the  woman  would 
get  the  better  part  of  her  sense  of  justice.  He  knew  the 
ous  nature  of  the  sex,  and  the  paramount  strength  of  their  feel 
ings.  Could  Olivia  really  be  capable  of  rejecting  the  lover  whom 
she  preferred  before  all  others,  simply  bc.-ause  of  a  cold  senti 
ment  of  honor  and  propriety  ?  Why  should  she  not  keep  her  se 
cret,  and  thus  secure  her  triumph?  He  still  dreaded  that  she 
would  resolve  on  this.  He  had  too  b'ttle  nobleness  himself  to 


THE  GUARDIAN'S  AITRKHKNSIONS.  251 

rely  upon  that  of  another;  and  the  recent   event   levelled   mate 
rially  his  Confidence  in  the  firmness  uf  JUT  virtue,     which  was  at 
of  course  ii  is  understood  that  he  can 
i'.ed  to  her  union  with  Philip,  or,  indeed,  withanv 
iiiaii.      \Vt-  have  but  imperfectly  unfolded  our  narrative  Urn-far, 
if  it  be  ;.«w  necessary  that  we  should  endeavor  to   e-tabli-h    tliis 
faet.      Ilis  selii-i.  .varice  and  pa>-ion.  was   a   let- 

tied  neee>sity,  and  utterly  adverse  to  her   finding   happin- 

;ig  to  the  dielates  (,f  her  affections. 

But  it  was  necessary  to  confirm  her  in  her  previously  exp; 

and    virtuous    resolution    of   self-denial.        lie    was    required    to 

;ieii  her  determination  against    the    pleadings   of  her    own 

M  well  as  of  her  lover,  to  lessen  the  stivngth   of  her    ll-el- 

inurs  l«y  stiinulatiiiLi  her  j.roju-iety.  and  to  keep  her  virtuous  maj;- 

naniiuity  active,  as  a  barrier  au'.tin-t  lier    pa— i«.n.     This   he   now 

jM-reeived  to  be  more  jiowi-rful  tlian  he,  or  even  she.    had    pivvi- 

Bospeoted.     Be  had  watched  her  through  all  the  carriers 

of  the  tournament,  and  had  seei;  the  warmth  and  violi  noe  ot'h»-r 

;'tten  in  li.-r  fi«T  and  action  amid>t  all  (In-  dial  _. 
tl»«-  st:  la  not  to  be  tru-ted  to  her  own  sentiment-/' 

\\as  liis  rellfrtiou.    MSh€   ma\  M  she   plea-fS.   in   hel"  (juiet 

moments  of  thought ;  but   let    Philip  de  Vasconseloa  kneel  im- 

g  at  hi-r  feet,  and  >h«-  will  probably  fnr-rt  all  her  honorable 

•.vill  yield  to  his  entreat!' 
•  mity  of  her  admMona.    I  mu-t  pn.vi  :  this." 

Ifl  >ee  wha*  ::I-etinur  lii 

•linini:  UJM-II  a  couch    in    the    apartnie: 
upon  the  verandah.      There  Don    1  • 

oked  \i\t  at  his  api  ...  full    ,,f  BO 

sad  a  reproach,  that,  had  he  been  capabl.'  of  a   j^ein-rous  impres 
sion,  would  hav.-  made  him  instantly  contrite.      Hut  h,-    \\ 
capable  of  • 

of  man.      He   took 

:. 

*  W.-ll,  my  eliiid.  3 
/ou  have  (ujite  to,-    m.in;,  They    will    onlj 


252  VASCONSELOS. 

weary  and  distress  you.  The  tongue  of  that  silly  wife  of  Tobar 
is  enough  to  madden  any  invalid,  and  there  are  others  of  like 
sort,  who  do  not  so  much  desire  to  soothe  or  amuse,  as  to  ex 
ercise  their  tongues  and  curiosity.  What  you  want  is  peace  and 
quiet." 

"  Peace  and  quiet !  where  am  I  to  find  them  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  find  both, 
if  you  are  only  moderate  in  your  expectations.  It  is  the  unrea 
sonable  and  extravagant  hopes  of  youth  alone  that  keep  peace  and 
quiet  from  any  bosom." 

"  Hopes !  Do  you  really  suppose  that  I  entertain  any  hopes'?" 

"  Indeed  !  Do  you  not?  and  why,  if  you  entertain  no  hopes, 
do  you  encourage  these  painful  and  oppressive  sensibilities,  that 
keep  you  only  in  a  continual  agony  ?" 

"  It  is  for  this  very  reason,  that  I  can  entertain  no  hopes,  that 
these  agonizing  sensibilities  are  mine.  But  I  surely  need  not  say 
this  to  you  " 

"  My  dear  child,  do  not  deceive  yourself.  You  do  entertain 
hopes  and  expectations,  and  it  is  these  that  keep  alive  and  active 
these  moods  and  sensibilities.  I  know  you  better  than  you  do 
yourself.  You  may  deceive  yourself,  in  moments  of  solitude, 
with  the  idea  that  you  have  nothing  to  live  for.  But  events  will 
bo  apt  to  put  all  these  notions  out  of  your  head.  You  are  now 
so  much  better  that  you  will  soon  have  other  visitors." 

••  Who!  what  mean  you?" 

"Your  Portuguese  cavalier  will  soon  be  here,  no  doubt,  and  on 
his  knees  before  you.  It  is  inevitable,  after  what  has  taken  place. 
that  lie  will  come,  and  must.  He  has  fairly  committed  himself 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world;  he  will  soon  find  it  necessary  to  corn 
plete  his  progress  by  a  formal  oiler  of  his  hand." 

"And  you  think  1  will  aeeept  him?" 

u  Well;  there  is  some  danger  of  it.  The  truth  is,  my  dear 
child,  von  are  not  tin-  mistress  of  your  own  affections,  He  ha«: 
too  much  eii>laved  your  imagination  to  Miller  you  to  cscapr  him. 
fou  love  him  quite  too  intensely  to  reject  his  prayer." 

"Alas!    It  is  because  1  so  much  love  him  that  1  will  reject  him 


THE    EVIL    GENIUS.  263 

I  may  be  degraded,  uncle — I  am — and  you  well  know  why  I  am, 
and  wl\p  has  degraded  me  ; — but  I  am  not  base  !  I  will  not  sink 
lower  in  my  own  esteem,  in  doing  such  a  terrible  wrong  to  a  na 
ture  so  noble  us  that  of  the  knight  of  Portugal,  by  uniting  his 
honor  with  my  shame !" 

"  Who  knows  that  there  is  any  shame  ?" 

"  God !" 

"  Ah !  perhaps !  But  you  have  no  apprehension  that  he  will 
be  at  any  pains  to  make  it  known '?" 

"  I  know  not  that.  Guilt  is  ever  in  danger  of  exposure. 
Shame  is  like  the  cloud,  that,  whether  the  star  will  or  will  not, 
rises  at  any  hour,  with  the  winds,  to  blot  its  beautiful  surface. 
Hut  whether  the  world  knows  or  not — whether  God  permits  the 
truth  to  be  revealed  or  not — alters  not  tl.  mo.  It  is 

enough  that  /know  the  terrible  >hanie  that  hangs  upon  i:. 
like  night.     Enough,  that  I  too  much  love  Don   Philip  de 

los  to  bestow  my  consriou-nc^  of  ignominy  upon  him." 

"This  is  all  mere  sentiment,  rnv  child." 

"Sentiment!  Hut  y«-u  >peak  as  if  you  really  desired  that  I 
should  wed  with  the  knight  of  Portug  I 

"No!  By  Satan,  no  !  I  hate,  1  loathe  the  man,  and  I  love 
/ou,  my  child.  Never,  with  my  eminent,  shall  you  take  him  to 
your  arms." 

••  Why,  then,  leave  it  to  doubt  ?  Why  imp<»e  upon  me  the 
task  which  you  \  «-t  think  rue  too  weak  to  execute?  Forbid  hi.'M 
the  house— forbid  him  the  ipiest — and  put  an  end  to  all  your  ap- 
prebefisioos." 

••  Would  that   prooea   be   .tl'eetual?      No.no!    my  chil  ' 
will  never  answer.      Our  eu-iom-  here,  in  Cuba.  wou!<; 
it.      What   would  ererybodj    -ay  of  me  .'      It  would  wrap    me    in 
a  thousand   strifes  and  eml>aiT. laments.      He-idc-.  Don  Philip  de 

Dldbi  would  not  -ntler  any  >ui-h  eva-idi  ;   and  th«-  A 
tado  would  -u-tain  liiin  in  th.-  a-M-rtion  of  the   right  • 

No!  no!  he  miwt  not  )>e  deni  opportunity,  and  UK 

mutt rr  nni-t  lu-  left  to  \oiir  :•>!»." 

"Thiit    is    alread\    made!      1    can    IU-\\T   be    the :  wife  uf  Doo 


254  VASCONSELOS. 

Philip.  Were  1  other  than  the  thing  I  am,  I  shculd  know  no 
greater  happiness.  As  I  am,  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  think 
of  happiness,  or  should  so  wrong  him  in  my  desire  for  it,  as  U 
unite  iny  grief  and  shame  to  his  honor  and  his  fortunes." 

'•And  1  repeat,  you  know  not  yourself.  You  have  not  the 
strength  for  this.  You  mean  as  you  say,  no  doubt,  now  that  you 
are  comparatively  calm,  and  when  he  is  not  present;  but  when 
lie  aj  >pears,  and  you  see  him  before  you — at  your  feet, — where 
will  be  your  fine  resolutions'?  You  will  yield.  You  will  con 
sent, — you  will  forget  all  your  nice  sentiments,  and  keep  youi 
secret,  and  be  happy!" 

"  Leave  me,"  she  said  calmly.  "  You  do  not  know  me.  Still 
less  do  you  know  how  you  annoy  and  humble  me.  Enough  for 
you  that  you  are  secure  in  your  wishes,  whatever  may  be  mine. 
I  cannot  marry  Don  Philip  ;  1  will  not ;  though  I  tell  you  frankly, 
that  I  should  know  no  greater  secret  of  happiness  than  this,  were 
this  possible.  You  have  doomed  me  to  loss  of  all !  Leave  me 
now." 

"  But  you  must  take  your  medicine,  Olivia." 

"  I  will  take  nothing  at  your  hands." 

"  Why  not  r 

"You  have  drugged  me  enough.  I  fear  to  drink — to  eat — al 
most  to  hivathe — knowing  upon  what  poisons  you  have  fed  me." 

"This  is  foolish.  On  my  honor,  you  have  nothing  to  fear 
now." 

"  Oh!  if  you  asseverate  so  solemnly,  I  am  sure  there  is  dan 
ger  !  Take  it  away  !  I  will  not  drink,  though  I  perish." 

"  Obstinate !  1  tell  you,  this  is  the  potion  provided  by  the 
physician." 

"  It  has  passed  through  your  hands." 

"  Am  I  poison  ?" 

"  Ay,  death  !  worse  than  death  !  shame,  horror,  hell !  Do  not 
vex  me  ; — leave  me  !  I  will  trust  you  in  nothing,  I  tell  you  !  Is 
it  not  enough  that  you  have  destroyed  every  hope ;  would  you 
torture  me  without  a  purpose  ?" 


DREAMS    OF    HAPPINESS.  265 

"  You  are  mad !  Is  it  torture  that  I  should  give  you  the  very 
medicine  which  has  been  prescribed  for  you  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  the  same !  You  have  the  art  to  alter 
the  nature  of  all  things  that  approach  me.  You  change  the  help- 
lil  to  the  hurtful — the  good  to  the  bad.  By  the  Holy  Virgin, 
uncle,  were  it  not  for  the  wrong  that  I  should  do  to  another,  I 
should  wed  with  the  knight  of  Portugal,  if  only  to  find  an 
avenger — to  be  sure  of  one  to  whom  I  might  say — Slay  me  this 
monster,  who  has  destroyed  me,  soul  and  body !" 

Don  Balthazar  hurled  the  cup  of  physic  to  the  floor,  and  with 
a  look  of  the  fiercest  anger,  and  a  half-muttered  curse,  he  strode 
hastily  out  of  the  apartment. 

"  Thank  God  !"  said  the  poor  girl  as  he  disappeared,  "  I  breathe 
more  freely  !" 

And  she  sunk  into  a  long,  sad  revery  ;  and  the  thought  of  Don 
Philip  came  to  her,  and  brought  with  it  fancies  of  the  most  bright 
and  cheering  felicity.  She  fancied  him  at  her  feet  ;  she  thought 
of  herself  in  his  arms.  The  world  shut  out,  in  the  lone  security 
of  their  mountain  hacienda,  she  sai«l  to  herself — '•  Surely  this  is 
happiness, — this  is  security  ami  peace!  And  why,"  she  a-ked  of 
f,  '•  sh«>uM  I  ii<>t  enjoy  this  peace.  thU  security,  this  happi- 
What  have  1  done  that  I  should  deny  myself  to  live?  Am 
I  guilty  of  this  crinu — this  shame?  Is  it  mine?  Am  I  not  a 
wrrtrhed  victim  only  of  the  toils  and  the  arts  and  the  superior 
power-;  of  another?  Have  I,  in  my  own  soul,  consented  to  this 
surrender  of  my  innocence  to  the  spoiler  ?  Wherefore  should  I 
sutler  more  J  Have  1  not  su  lie  red  enough  ?  Why  should  I  not 
be  happy  with  him  1  love,  true  to  him  ever,  and  never  willingly 
fuNe  to  Heaven  or  myself?  It  i->  a  leord  from  all  but  one.  this 
shame  that  is  my  sorrow;  and  that  one.  for  his  on  .  dare 

not   whimper   it  to  the  bird  that   flies!      Ala-!  alas!   my  h-- 
whither    would  you    carry    me?     Would    you   have  me  abu-e 
his    noble    trust   for    your   ple.-iMiiv  '     Oh!   be    still,  lest   in   my 
kneM  I  commit  a  wrong  as  great  as  that  which  I  have  eut 
fered  !" 

Such,  in  brief,  were  the  prolonged  meditations  ».f  ti 


256  VASCONSELOS 

woman  throughout  the  melancholy  hours  of  her  solitude.  Her 
passion  for  Philip  de  Vasconselos  was  now  perpetually  suggest 
ing  to  her  mind  fresh  arguments  against  the  virtuous  resolution 
which,  in  cooler  moments,  had  been  the  conclusion  of  her  thought. 
She  felt  that  her  resolution  was  growing  momently  more  and 
more  weak;  but  still  she  combaU-d  herself;  argued  with  her 
own  thought,  strove  nobly  against  her  heart,  and  all  its  really 
innocent  desires,  and  bewildered  finally,  and  exhausted,  she  sur 
rendered  herself  at  last  to  the  dreamiest  revery,  such  as  naturally 
occurs  to  the  sensuous  nature,  in  the  delicious  climate  in  which 
she  dwelt.  In  this  revery,  in  which  every  breath  was  soft,  every 
glance  fair  and  wooing,  every  influence  possessing  the  magic  of  a 
spell  upon  the  affections,  she  found  temporary  refuge,  against 
that  severer  virtue  which  counselled  nothing  less  than  self-d<  ni  il 
and  sacrifice !  Ah  !  who  is  strong  for  such  a  sacrifice  when  every 
passion  of  the  dependent  and  loving  nature  wars  against  it ! 
Will  Olivia  de  Alvaro  be  able  to  keep  her  vow,  when  Philip  de 
Vasconselos  bows  before  her  ?  She  trembles  as  she  thinks  of  it ; 
but  still — she  thinks  of  it!  Her  thought  evermore  recurs,  after 
long  wandering,  to  his  expected  coming  !  Will  he  come  ?  will 
he  not?  Can  he  otherwise?  And,  should  lie  come, — and  when 
•:ies,— - then — shall  she  find  the  strength  to  say  to  him  ''<le- 
part !" — And  should  he  linger — should  lie  deny  to  go — should 
he  a- k"  wherefore  ?  " — what  answer  shall  she  make  1  Can  .-he  >a \ . 
1  have  no  love  to  <jive  in  return,  when  she  really  lias  nothing  in 
her  h<-art  but  love  for  him?  And  if  she  cannot,  in  truth,  and 
f'loin  her  heart  say  this,  what  pica  >hall  justify  her  denial  of  his 
|-r:i\i-i  )  It  i>  thus  that  she  begins  t«>  ei.iijim-  nj>,  l«-i  her  OWO 
conscience,  the  ditlienlties  which  >tan<l  in  the  \\  a  \  of  IXT  o\\n 
?><'if-s;i<  rificc.  It  is  thus  that  the  inp-nioiiv  uriMie  the 

Cftse  with  the  honest  thought.  Which  >hall  triumph  in  the  «-nd  ? 
Olivia  «ie  Alvaro  i>  a  mo^t  weak,  most  loving  woman  >he  is 
•:ate.  too.  with  all  the  intense  tue>  of  the  >«>uth.  Sim 
mc;»n»  nolily,  her  tln-n-ht  i>  rin!ni\  advised ;  an- 1  -he  would  act 
iieeonlmn  to  the  dictates  •,!'  a  ju-tl\  gOVCH  ,  but, 

when  the  p;^M'>n>  -ii-ive.  what  mind  i>  -tr«'ii^    ..^ain^t  theiu  ? — 


THE   STRUGGLE.  257 

when  the  heart  loves,  with  entire  devotion,  where  are  the  thoughts 
which  shall  extinguish  its  glowing  fires  ?  As  well  say  to  the  rising 
floods  of  ocean— "Sink  back,  with  all  your  billows,  ami  rest 
calmly  in  the  bosom  of  your  floods."  The  struggle  between  soul 
and  heart,  in  the  case  of  Olivia  de  Alvam,  is  but  begun.  II.,* 
will  it  end  ?  Verily,  there  is  very  good  reason  why  Don  Ual- 
thazar  should  be  apprehensive.  Truly,  he  knows,  better  than 
his  niece,  how  great  is  her  weakiM->  !  I'.u;  he  will  not  leave 
her  wholly  alone,  to  fight  the  battle  with  her  p:is,imls.  IK-  \vill 
frequently  come  mockingly  to  her  succor,  ai,.l,  by  torturii.g  her 
pride  into  pas- ion,  will  seek  to  subdue,  the  force  of  other  ; 
MODS.  He  lias  all  the  subtlety  of  the  serpent  :  will  he  u -• 
•UOOesalillly  1  It  is  very  certain  that  he  will  spare,  no  art-  'o 
.'  the  hopes  of  the  two  young  heart-,  who,  but  for  his  cvi1 
working,  had  long  since  been  reiuK-ivd  happy. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  Hold  Ihee  :  there's  my  purse.     I  give  thee  not  this  to  suggest  thee  iroin  Uiy  niA»>i 
thou  talkest  of :  serve  him  still." 

ALL'S  WKLL  THAT  F..M>S  WKI  i. 

THE  public  sports  which  the  Adelantado  had  provided  for  the 
gratification  of  the  people  of  Cuba  were  nil  finally  ended.  We 
have  not  thought  proper  to  describe  the  amusements  which  fol 
lowed  on  the  third  day,  however  interesting  to  the  spectators ; 
for  the  simple  reason  that  they  do  not  immediate!/  affect  the  con 
dition  of  our  dramatis  persona.  They  still  demanded  the  per 
sonal  attendance  of  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro,  however,  as  war 
der  of  the  field  ;  and  this  gave  a  little  respite  to  the  suffering 
Olivia  in  her  solitude.  We  have  already  noted  an  interview  be 
tween  the  niece  and  her  uncle,  after  the  third  day  of  the  tourna 
ment;  but  there  was  one  event,  occurring  at  the  close  of  that 
day,  which  it  becomes  us  not  to  suffer  to  pass  unnoticed.  After 
the  passages-at-arms,  of  all  sorts,  were  fairly  over,  and  the 
trumpets  had  merrily  sounded  the  signals  for  the  dispersion  of 
the  assembly — while  the  crowd,  moving  to  and  fro  in  all  direc 
tions,  resembled  the  shifting  scenes  of  a  panorama — Don  Bal 
thazar  called  to  him  an  officer,  and,  speaking  aside,  said  : 

"Has  the  slave,  Mateo,  been  taken — the   mestizo,  the   rnata- 
'or,  whose  capture  I  confided  to  thy  hands  ?" 

*  He  h*«  *xrk«"  ^enor.     Tie  has  rinded  all  our  efforts." 

Thou  na*t  suffered  these  sports  to  keep  thee  from  thy  duty; 
dse,  how  should  he  escape  thy  search  ?" 

"  No,  Sefior " 

"It  must  be   so,  I  tell   thee;  for  the  fellow  is  not  likely  to 
leave   Havana  so  long  :i<   these    amusements  last;    and   there 
should  be  no  places  of  hiding  in  the  city  which  should  be  be 
au 


TIIK    AUil'AZIL.  269 

yond   the   reach  ot  a  good  officer!     See  to  it!     This  night  is  all 

that  U  left  thee  to  effect  his  capture.      Half  of  these   people  will 

t<>   the  country  by  tin-  dawn;   hr.  probably,  among  them. 

him    at    the   tents   and   tables    where   they    game.      All  of 

.  terrible  \  assiOO  tor  cards  and  dice.      At  th- 

|>i:-li«- m.-'.y  he  found.  lie  hath  pos>ihly  brought  with  him  some 
favorite  birds  from  the  country,  lie  drink-,  t no.  \\ith  a  rare 
pa— i.-is.  whieh  will  no  doubt  carry  him  to  the  >hi»ps  where  the 

lienU    is  to  be  had.       Get  thee    a  do/.i'ii  of  thy  fellow 
(•ouiiM-;!,  d.  \\  1m    know  the   man,  and    set    them  on    the  quest  t\>r 
him  in  all  tin-so  places.      If  you  take  him.  you  -hall  all  be  well  re 
warded.      If    not.    I    shall    endeavor    to  find  officers  who  i 
exhortation  to    their  duty.      There    is    no    reason  whv  lie   should 
not  be  found.     lie  flowed  himself  (juite  freelv  and  f«-arl«— -!  v  at  the 
btill-fiL  Lr.   I    suppose,   on   certain    changes  of  dress   and 

costum-  .  II ••  is  hardly  in  hiding  any  where,  and,  while  in 
:  ":1  no  doubt  be  found  .  r  other  of  the  places 

I  have  mentioned.  Stint  not  your  cflorls.  nor  the  numbersof  your 
men,  imr  tin-  needtV  and.  if  you  take  him,  bring  him  to 

•     midnight,    even  ;    so    that    ye    delay 

not  arter  you  have  taken  him.  Kimu^h  !  86€  to  it,  Die«:<»,  as  you 
would  be  sure  of  my  favr-  !" 

.  I  will  not  sleep  in  this  >earch/' 

QOe,  tor  he  will  doubtless  soon  leave  Havana 
}«»r  the  mountains/' 

The    Hi, I.  -,ited  from    the   Al.Lnia/.il,    and    both    di<ap- 

from  si-ht.      Within  the  same  hour  Don  Haltha/ar  mi^rht 

i  :-i'!iiiLr.  on  a  famous   black  charter,  towards   th«-    r 
without  the  city,  wh  ^.-n«.rita,  his    niece,  maintained    her 

«olitude.      It  was  but  a    little    before    this,  that    the  very  outlaw, 
.  miirht  h  .  i  ur>  i- 

inur  the   tame    route,      Tin-    la'ter   had  fairly  i-nten-.I    the-. 
when  he  heard   th.-  s.>und  of  h  iiind    him.      II 

•••1\  shelt.-r.-d  himself  from  si-rht  in  a  den-c  thicket  of 
bambo...  and.  from  his  pi.,.-,.  «,f  n-treat.  beh-  Id  the  knight  ride 
-  y  by.  The  outlaw  griini-  ,  ed  his  old 


260  VASCOXSELOS. 

master,  whom  he  remembered  by  numerous  cruelties,  such  as,  in 
that  day,  but  too  much  distinguished  the  fierce  warriors  of  Spain 
when  dealing  with  their  Indian  and  negro  slaves.    We  have  already 
mentioned  that  Mateo  was  a  fugitive  ;  having  fled,  not  simply  from 
the  cruelty  of  his  master,  but  from  the  consequences  of  his  own 
crimes.     He  had  murdered,  in  a  sudden  broil,  one  of  the  officers 
of  the  estate  of  the  Seuorita  Olivia,  to  which,  indeed,  he  belonged  : 
the  control  of  Don  Balthazar  over  him  resulting  only  from  his 
being  the  guardian  of  his  niece.     From   that  moment,  Mateo 
disappeared,  having  sought  shelter  in  the  contiguous  mountains, 
which  were,  at  that  early  period,  entirely  unexplored.     lie  had 
been  subsequently  heard  of,  on  several  occasions,  but  only  in  the 
character  of  a  robber.     A  price  had  been  set  upon  his  head,  but 
he  had  always  contrived  to  elude  the  pursuit  of  justice.     His 
mother,  the  old  woman  Anita,  in  the  employ  of  Don   Baltha 
zar,  as  we  have  seen,  and   the  willing  creature  of  his  infamous 
arts  and  practices,  had  not  forborne  to  plead  the  cause  of  her 
son  ;  and  she  probably  would   have  succeeded,  long  before  her 
death,  in  procuring  his  pardon,  could  she  have  been  successful  in 
persuading  Mateo  to  take  the  essential  initiative  in  such  a  matter, 
by    surrendering   himself  to   the   estate.     But    Mateo  was   not 
ready  to  incur  such' a  peril,  and  distrusted  all  the  assurances  of 
the  Don,  whom  he  too  well  knew  readily  to  confide  in.     Bc^.. 
the  violent  and  brutal  character  of  his  passions   kept   him   con 
tinually  working  against  his  own  pardon,  by  the  commission  of 
new  crimes  and  misdemeanors.     Like  all  of  his  race,  he  was  too 
fond  of  the  pleasures  of  the  crowd,  and  such  as  were  promised 
by  the   exhibitions   of  the   bull-ring   and   the    tournament,   to 
forego  the  temptation,  at  whatever  hazard,  of  beinir  a  witness  of 
the  grand  spectacles  offered  to  the  public  by  tin-    magnificence  of 
Don  Ilernan   de  Soto.     But  Mateo  relied  upon  his  disguises  ; 
upon  the  shaggy  hair,  the  wild  beard,  and    the,   strange  costume 
which  he  wore  ;  and  upon  the  fact  of  a  three  years'  absence  from 
all  the  eyes  that  knew  him.     lie  felt  himself  sufficiently  estranged 
from  all  eyes,  and  did  not  doubt  that  even   his  mother  would 
fail  to  recognize  her  son.     But  he  did  too  little  justice  to  the 


THE   OUTLAW.  201 

keen  sight  and  tenacious  memory  of  Don  Balthazar.  Of  the 
death  of  the  old  woman,  Matco  had  learned  nothing  until  he 
reached  Havana,  a  few  days  before.  But,  in  that  time,  he  had 
seen  his  sister,  the  sullen  girl,  Juana,  on  several  secret  occasions 
had  heard  all  her  tidings;  had  listened  to  all  her  complaints,  and 
had  decided  upon  the  course  to  be  pursued  for  attaining  all 
iry  remedies  for  his  own  and  her  alleged  wrongs.  Of 
remedies  we  shall  learn  hereafter.  We  need  not  say,  per 
haps,  that  he  laughed  at  all  the  labors  of  his  mother,  in  striving 
to  procure,  his  forgiveness,  as  a  fugitive  slave.  He  was  one  >f 
tho-se  iv.-kl-  is,  too  savage  lor  subjection,  too  indolent  lor 

toil,  who  prefer  to  appropriate  the  labors  of  others  to  the  exer- 
:'  any  of  his  own  ;  and,  by  the  strong  hand,  or  sleight  of 
hand,  contrived  to  extract  a  very  comfortable  living  out  of  a 
world  which  he  thought  good  for  nothing  el<e.  Now  that  he 
was  in  Havana,  he  was  resolved  to  bring  about  the  settlement 
of  all  his  atlairs  in  that  city;  and  his  own  and  sister's  accounts 
promised  to  employ  him  actively  for  a  time.  His  old  master 
wa-  his  chief  debtor  ;  and,  that  he  did  not  emerge  from  his  bamboo 
shelter,  and  in-Ut  upon  immediate  payment,  while  the  knight 
was  passing,  was  simply  beeau-e  he  thought  it  very  possible  that 
Don  Baltha/ar  did  not  carry  a  sufl'n-ient  amount  in  funds  about 
with  him,  to  enable  him  to  make  satisfactory  settlement.  It 
would  have  been,  otherwise,  <mitc  as  ea>y  to  spring  out  from  his 
j'laee  upon  the  1  ><>n,  as.  from  the  corridor  into  tin-  bull-ring, 
de  grace  to  El  ^foro  !  The  knight  was  suffered 
to  pro.v.-d  in  vifcty  to  his  house,  whithi-r  Mateo  followed  more 
slowlv.  and  not  until  the  darkness  had  fairlv  covered  the  hacienda. 
\Ve  -hall  sutl.-r  Peveral  houft  '<>  elap-e  without  reporting  th«-ir 
events;  but  we  must  suppose  that  they  have  not  been  sutlered 
to  pas-,  unemployed  either  by  the  Hidalgo  OF  the  outlaw. 

that  both  parties  have  been  busy,  though  we  do 
not  just  now  care  to  go  into  a  narrative  of  their  several  doings. 
Enough,  that  towards  midnight  Don  Balthazar  e.-a-c-d  from  his 
labors  for  the  night;  and  in  his  chamber,  with  his  dressing-gown 
about  him,  and  his  limbs  released  in  some  degree  from  the  gar 


262  VASCONSELOS. 

ments  worn  throughout  the  day,  he  rests  at  length  jpon  a  wicker 
settee  of  bamboo,  and  meditates  through  the  graceful  clouds  of 
aromatic  smoke  that  ascend  volume  after  volume  from  his  much 
beloved  cigar.  Don  Balthazar,  though  somewhat  Maze',  i>  yet 
not  wholly  insensible  to  the  yood  things  of  this  life,  speaking 
only  of  the  physical  enjoyments.  Indeed,  it  is  to  the  bLi~, 
chiefly  that  the  "  creature  comforts "  rise  into  paramount  value 
and  estimation.  It  is  when  the  purer  tastes  and  the  proper  de 
sires  of  the  mind  have  been  perverted,  or  abused,  or  lost,  that 
one  seeks  recompense  by  appeals  to  appetites  which,  until  then, 
are  kept  in  honest  subjection.  Don  Balthazar  did  not  rely  on 
his  cigar  wholly  for  his  happiness;  a  flask  of  generous  wine 
rested  on  a  table  beside  him,  from  which,  ever  and  anon,  he  re 
plenished  his  goblet.  He  emptied  it,  perhaps,  much  more  freely 
than  he  was  aware.  The  troubles  of  his  mind  made  him  some 
what  unconscious  of  the  frequency  of  his  potations,  and  their 
effects  working  favorably  upon  his  mood,  seemed  to  justify  the 
appetite  in  still  further  seeking  succor  from  this  source.  Don 
Balthazar  had  survived  all  the  j -.roper  taste-.  "His  appetites 
were  wholly  artificial.  His  tastes  had  become  prurient;  his 
passions  had  been  succeeded  by  mere  desires  depending  upon  his 
diseased  fancies.  These,  as  chronic,  always  exert  a  tyrannous 
power  over  their  possessor,  and  compel  him  to  pursuits  and  ob 
jects  which,  in  calm  moments,  seem  wholly  undeserving  of  any 
effort.  A  thousand  times  did  the  mere  reason  and  common  sense 
of  the  knight  counsel  him  to  throw  oil'  habits  and  desires  which 
were  equally  evil  and  profitless  ;  but  in  vain.  A  single  moment 
of  dreaming  revery  brought  back  the  tyrannous  fancies  in  all 
their  power.  The  cigar,  the  wine, — these  were  potent  influence-. 
though  unsuspected,  in  behalf  of  hia  evil  moo. Is;  and  his  will  no 
longer  seconded  the  suggestion  of  his  better  moments.  It 
would  be  doing  him  great  injustice  to  sav  that  he  did  not  repeat 
edly  deplore  the  weaknesses  ofhis  nature,  and  the  crime  and  the 
cruelty  of  which  it  was  the  source.  But  his  strength  was  not  a 
strength  in  behalf  of  virtue.  It  was  the  strength  of  evil  passions 
only— of  passions  arriving  at  sole  power  by  reason  of  their  un 


CONSCIENCE    AND    I'lll  L<  >SO1'H  V.  263 

scrupulous  exercise,  and  in  their  dying  embers  exerting  a  ne* 
and  more  evil  sort  of  influence  in  consequence  of  their  very  do 
cay  and  feebleness.      lie  knew,  and  frit,  and  reproached  1,' 
at  moments  for  his  terrible  abuse  of  authority  and  advai,; 
:'  his  unhappy  nicer.      Hr  was  somrtiinrs   mad. 
sci.»us  of  the  awful  spectre  of  his  decease*!  brother,  !«.•• 
upon  him  with  loathing  and  anger,  and   the  saddest    repma«  h   ii; 
hi-  fare;  sometimes  he  faiu-'u'd  his  voice  in  his  ears,  and  at  Other 
times  he  beheld  suddenly,  as  it  were,  a  glimpse  of  the  !i« •:•» -e 
visage  of  "the  Biscayan  mother"  of  Olivia,  flaming  with  in 
tion,  before  his  eyes.     His  conscience  thus,  at  times,  came  to  the 
a^istanrf  of  his  better  reason,  and  filled  him  with  virtuou 
lution.     But  it  is  not  easy  for  one  accustomed   for  thirty  years 
to  give  the  full   reins  to  his  moods  and  passions.  t«>  re-n.injuer 

and  recover  the  ascendency  of  thought  and  will  <>\vr  habit. 
Habit  is  the  most  unbending  of  all  mortal  tyrannies,  and  the 
better  geniu>  of  Don  Balthazar  struggled  vainly  against  the  aj - 

I  which  he  had  so  constantly  fed  in  its  despite.  And  now. 
wh'-n  some  better  feelings  were  endeavoring  to  assert  tlieinscl vrs 
iu  his  bosom — when  a  lingering  feeling  of  commiseration  for  the 
po,,|-  child  whom  lie  had  so  cruelly  abused  had  prompted  him  to 
reflections  upon  his  own  selfishness,  which,  seeking  a  momentary 
and  even  mocking  gratification,  was  de-troying  the  very  life  of 
hope  in  the  bosom  of  the  girl — destroying  her  pa  r.  and 

all  the  gladdening  impulses  which  make  youth  happy — he  harden 
ed  hiniM  !f  against  the  kindlier  impression  by  a  n  soin. 
of  those  hard    phOoBOphiefl,  which,  in   his  caM-.  had  ahvad\ 
thrown  all  tin-  authority  as  well  of  humanity  as  religion. 

"  What  matters  it,"  said  he  t.o  himself,  filling  his  g,,b!et  with  a 
ipply  from  the  wine-flask, — "what    matters  it  in  the  end  ? 
These    passions   of  love   are    in   tact    nothing  but  the  capr:< 
fancy  ;   a  brief  space  will  reconcile  her  to  the  loss  of  this 
of  Portugal.  \\hos».   youth,  grace,  and  noble  bearing  are  th 
attractions;    when    he    has  (airly  embarked    for    Florida   she  will 

him,  and  she  will  thru  rrm.-mbrr  me  with  a<  much  b 
ness    as    any    other    lov.-r.      She    will    feel    that,    though    I    hav« 


264  VASCONSELOS. 

wronged  her,  it  was  because  of  my  passion  that  I  did  so ;  and 
my  love  will  justify  in  her  mind  the  exercise  of  the  power  which 
I  had  upon  her.  If  not,  what  is  she  but  a  woman,  created  for  the 
pleasure  and  the  delight  of  man ;  and  why  should  she  not  min 
ister  to  my  delight  as  well  as  to  another?  Women,  if  well 
treated,  kindly,  and  without  neglect,  readily  reconcile  themselves 
to  the  condition  from  which  they  cannot  escape.  She  will  here 
after  consent  willingly  to  that  which  she  has  vainly  thought  to 
oppose  ;  and  in  the  necessity  of  her  case  will  become  aware  of 
what  is  grateful  in  it.  Already,  1  think,  she  begins  to  improve. 
She  grows  milder  every  day.  For  a  week  she  has  exhibited 
none  of  those  fitful  bursts  of  passion  which  she  inherited  from 
that  tigress  mother ;  and  her  eyes,  though  they  still  look  sadly 
and  reproachfully,  show  no  longer  that  fierce  hate  and  loathing 
NY  Inch  distinguished  them  before.  She  grows  pliant — she  is 
yielding.  Let  me  but  baffle  this  knight  of  Portugal,  and  I  have 
her  wholly  in  my  power.  He  must  depart.  She  must  reject 
his  petition ;  and  if  not,  then  I  must  find  a  way  to  silence  him 
forever." 

Don  Balthazar  deceived  himself  in  one  thing.  The  mildness 
of  Olivia's  present  aspect  was  scarcely  in  proof  that  she  was  now 
more  reconciled  *o  his  power  than  before.  We  may  say,  in  this 
place,  that  she  ^as  schooling  herself  to  a  more  cunning  policy — 
that  she  was  opposing  art  to  art,  and  was  never  more  resolved, 
against  her  uncle,  than  at  the  moment  when  she  appeared  most 
resigned  to  her  fate.  Her  game  was  to  lull  to  sleep  his  vigilance 
by  appearing  more  submissive.  She  was  resolved  to  escape  from 
his  tyranny  as  soon  as  she  might  hope  to  do  so  with  safety.  As 
yet,  however,  she  had  formed  no  deliberate  plan  for  doing  so.  She 
had  vague  projects  and  purposes  in  her  mind,  ill-defined  and  aim 
less  at  present ;  but,  in  any  scheme,  to  quiet  his  suspicions  and 
disarm  his  vigilance,  were  the  first  objects,  necessary  to  the  suc 
cess  of  any  other.  These,  in  the  end,  might  ripen  into  something 
definite  and  clear,  and  in  the  meantime,  her  policy  was  single, 
and  thus  far  evidently  successful  Don  Balthazar  was  fatigued 
with  a  struggle  which  brought  only  fear  and  exhaustion  even  witb 


MATKO   AND  JUANA.  266 

its  successes;  and  WHS  c^uite  willing  to  believe  in  the  shows  of 
resignation,  on  the  part  of  his  victim,  by  \*hich  he  hoped  to  en 
joy  more  easy  triumphs. 

As  thus  he  lay,  weaving  conjectures,  and  hopes  and  doubts,  in  thu 
moxt  intricate  meshes  for  hisownfancy,he  was  surprised  by  a  sud 
den  and  most  unexpected  vi-itor.  But  it  becomes  us  to  -peak  of 
the  proceedings  of  this  visitor,  before  we  formally  introduce  him 
to  our  Hidalgo.  We  have  seen  that  the  fugitive,  Mateo,  was  «»n 
;..  pursuing  a  like  route  with  Don  Balthazar,  when  the  ap- 
pearnmv  of  tin-  latter  drove  the  outlaw  into  shelter.  He  saw  his 
ancient  master  sprrd  forward,  and  followed  him  at  his  leisure. 
A  little  after  nightfall,  stationed  in  a  lemon  thicket  near  the  dwell 
ing.  Mat-.-o  LM\V  ;l  signal  whistle,  and  in  a  few  minutes  after,  was 
ioincd  by  the  servant  girl,  .Juana.  She  was  his  sister;  and.  rude 
uiid  sullen  in  her  intercourse  with  all  other  persons,  on  him  she 
-.  ed  nothing  but  tenderness  and  atlection.  Her  whole  de 
portment  and  character  seemed  to  change  on  their  meeting.  She 
chini:  fondly  to  his  iu.<-k  ;  kis<ed  him  repeatedly  ;  called  him  her 
dear  In-other,  and  v.'ould  have  continued  her  transports,  had  he 
not,  with  a  sort  of  good-natured  violence,  shaken  her  oil*. 

"That  will  do,  that  will  do,  .Juana.  There's  no  time  now  fbi 
ki-sing  and  foo|i>hne-s.  I  have  come  for  work.  What  can  be 
done  '.  Is  tin-re  a  good  chance?  Is  there  anybody  in  the  hou>e, 
any  man  body  1  mean,  besides  Don  Baltha/ar  .'" 

•  \.»!   nobody  !      There's  my  young   lady,  and  the  old  hound, 
Sylvia  :  and  there's  the  cook  and  Pedro  ;  but  she's  in  the  kitchen, 
and    Pedro  is  gone  off  -omrwhcrc.      There's   nothing  to  p- 
BOW." 

"  Well,  you  mu-t  show  ITU-  a  way  to  grt  in,  and  c  >nie  suddenly 
upon  the  old  woman.  The  ma-ter"-;  in  his  room,  eh  .'" 

••  ^   •,   h'-'s    planning   -ome    more    wieke.lm^s.  all    t«>    I,'1 
Even  if  Sylvia  was  to  cry  out.  he  could  hardly  hear  where  he  is; 
and  you  needn't  go  near  him  at  all." 

"Ay,  ay;  but  I  mutt  go  near  him.  I've  got  some  accounts  to 
settle  with  him.  now  I'm  here.'1 

a  Don't  tr  i-t  ,\  5th  him,  dear  Mateo.     He's  got  arms 

12 


266  VASCOXSELOS. 

in  his  room ;  matchlocks  and  guns,  and  sharp,  bright  swords 
He's  never  unprepared  for  mischief;  and  if  he  sets  eyes  on  you, 
he'll  shoot  you." 

"  If  I  don't  shoot  him  :  but  that's  a  game  that  two  can  play  at 
just  as  well  as  one;  and  I  hope  to  take  him  by  surprise.  I  must 
try  to  do  so.  Don't  you  fear.  I  have  arms  too,  just  as  well  as 
he,  and  I  know  just  as  well  how  to  use  them  ;  and  I'm  not  afraid 
of  his  wickedness.  I've  got  some  of  my  own." 

"And  you  will  get  all  the  things  of  poor  mammy  ?" 
"  Won't  leave  a  hair  for  the  old  hag  that  robbed  you.     You 
shall  have  everything.     I'll  have  them  earned  oil'  and  hid  away 
for  you,  where  you  can  get  them  when  you  want  them." 

"  But  you  will  carry  them  with  you  to  the  mountains,  Mateo." 
"  And  how  will  you  get  the  use  of  them  there?" 
"  Why,  ain't  I  to  go  along  with  you,  brother"?" 
"You    go  along  with    me?  to   the  mountains  ?     Why  what 
would  you  do  there,  poor  child  f 

"Why,  live  with  you,  and  tako  care,  of  your  home  for  you.' 
"  Home !"  with  a  fierce  chuckle.  "  I  have  no  home.  I  am 
never  a  week  in  one  place  together.  I  pass  from  mountain 
to  mountain;  and  hide  in  one  cave  after  another;  and  go  in  all 
sorts  of  weather;  and  sleep  twenty  nights  under  the  open  sky, 
where  I  sleep  once  in  a  human  cabin.  The  outlaw  has  no  home, 
no  place  where  he  can  sleep  in  safety  ;  except  where  the  wild 
beast  keeps  watch  for  him  along  the  mountain-top,  and  frightens 
off  the  pursm  r." 

"I  don't  care,  Mateo!    I  am  not  afraid  !     I  want  to  go  with 

you  wherever  you  go,  and  I'll  live  with  you,  and  work  for  you, 

(U\(\  fight  for  you,  too;  just  as  if  I  were  a  man  and  not  a  woman/' 

"Well,  I   suppose   you  can  fight  ;   you've  got   the  strength  for 

it,  and  I  reckon  you're  not  afraid  ;  but " 

"And  I  may  go  with  you?"  eagerly. 

"No,  Juana,  child.  Not  just  yet.  I'll  come  for  you,  when 
ever  Fm  ready  for  you,  and  can  fix  you  in  some  certain  place." 

"Oh!   but  I  do   so  want    to  get    away  from  this    place.      You 
don't    know  win!  I  -utT<-r.      It'-  only  a  w«-k    ago   that   my  Lord 
me  with   his  whip   over  rny  face  and  shoulders." 


ADVICE.  267 

I'ooh  !  Pooh  !  what  of  that !     Do  you  suppose  if  you  were 
will,  me,  I  shouldn't  beat  you  too  when  you  deserved  it1?" 
"  But  1  didn  it,  Mateo." 

"Oli!   that's  all   D<  \Voiueti   always  deserve  a  whij>- 

:id  should  get  it  onee  or  twice  a  week  to  keep  Ym  M-nsihle 

and  proper.     You  don't  know  when  you'iv  well  oil'.      With  me, 

you'd  want  bread  often  enough  ;  and   there  would    IK-   no  safety. 

You'd    have   to  start    nut  of  your   bed   at    midnight,  to  fly.  \s  In-u 

you   hear  tin-  bloodhounds  barking  up  the  hills.      Y>  -oinetimes 

inonstrous  hard  for  me  to  get  oil'.      How  would  it  IK-  with  you  ! 

You'd  ho  eauiihl  l»y  the  dogs.      You'd  l»o   torn    to   piee.-s  ;    or  I'd 

have-  to  H>k  my  o\\n  lite  to  save  you.     Thou,  it'  you  fell  into  the 

hands  of  the  hunter>.  you'd    IK-  a   tlnm^nd  tinu--  :f  than 

c\er.      The/d  .-.-lid  you  to  the  Caiaboo/a.  and  >»•!!  you  to  a  liard 

ma>tor,  \\ho"d  j»it  you  into  the  fields,  and  whip  the  blood  out  of 

your  body,  and    the  very   heart    out  of  your  bo-.»;ii.      Yoii'r  well 

you  are.      You've  Lrot    a   good  mistress,  and  a  e«>infi,:-tahlo 

and  plenty    to  «  at  ai;ddih:L      Uut    the   master    beats   you, 

you  >ay.      Wei!,  oiiee  in   a    way,  perhaps  he  docs;    but  that  does 

you  no  harm.      IM   have   to  beat    \  <>u  ten  times  a^  niueli.  .luana, 

with  mo.      'Twould  be  for  your  goo. I.  I'd  do  it.      I'd 

know    you  wanted    it;    I    know   yoiiofoM.      YouM    be    the   last 

in  the  \\urld  to  try  and  ijuii  thi-  j>laoo.  if  it  hadn't  spoiled 

y  on.      You've  I  the  who!. 

oil'  \\hciv    you  are;    I    know  all    about  it.      I'd    have 
oil'  at  the  haeieiida  from  \\hi-h   I   ran  .t  that. 

:  fellow.  \\ho  couldn't  be  -;ttMh -d  any  \\  hen-.  ainl  would 
rather  Mtal  than  \\ork.      It'-  .  md  1  feel  ln-ttor  after 

it.      Hut    1    know  it's   irt.t    the   l»e>t   thing  for   me;   and    I    '.-. 
would   be  the  very    WOTSl    thing  tor  yOU.       I  B! 

a>  m\  UUia,  that   I'd  i  .\    \\ith  ti 

and  be  l::me-t  and  qv 

you  oai  A.  \  ni'd    only    In-    in    n. 

and  in  the  \%ay    ••!'  danger   and  all  BOfU  of  trouble.      Hut    I    hope 
•oon  to  get  a  safe  hidin  nd   thm,  if  you'r    reody    and 


268  VASCONSELOS. 

willing,  I'll  take  you  off.  For  the  present  you  must  keep  where 
you  are." 

It  was  in  this  way  that  the  outlaw  answered  the  entreaties  of 
his  sister.  He,  no  doubt,  came  to  a  right  conclusion  on  the  sub- 
ject.  But  she  was  not  satisfied,  and  submitted  sullenly  to  the 
authority  with  which  she  had  never  been  accustomed  to  contend. 

"  But,"  she  added,  as  a  last  argument, — "  it's  not  the  Senorita 
only ;  she's  to  be  married,  they  say,  and  there's  to  be  a  new 
master." 

"  Well :  he  won't  eat  you !  There  can't  be  any  worse  than 
Don  Balthazar ;  and  no  master  in  the  world  will  hurt  the  slave 
that  serves  him  faithfully.  He'd  be  a  fool  to  do  it." 

"  But  I  don't  like  a  new  master  ;  and  I  don't  like  to  be  under 
a  master  that's  a  Portuguese." 

"  Ho !  it's  one  of  the  Portuguese  that  she  is  to  marry  ! 
Well,  if  it's  the  one  that  tumbled  the  handsome  Cavalier,  Nuno 
de  Tobar,  she'd  be  well  officered.  He's  a  noble  soldier,  I  war 
rant — rides  a  horse,  and  handles  a  lance,  as  if  he  was  made  for 
nothing  else.  If  I  were  sure  that  Don  Balthazar  would  not  go 
to  the  country  of  the  Apalachians,  I'd  volunteer  to  go  in  this 
same  knight's  company.  But  if  he  went,  he'd  be  sure  to  find 
me  out  in  time.  I  could  serve  such  a  man  as  the  Portuguese, 
and  cheerfully  acknowledge  him  my  master.  Every  man,  I 
think,  is  born  to  have  a  master,  and  is  never  quite  happy  till  he 
finds  the  right  one.  I  like  this  knight  of  Portugal.  I  don't  see 
what  you've  got  to  be  afraid  of  if  he  marries  your  lady." 

"  Ah !"  said  the  girl  stealthily, — "  he'd  never  marry  her,  if  he 
only  knew  whafe  I  know." 

"What  do  you  know? — But  if  it's  any  harm  of  her,  Juana, 
don't  say  it,  for  your  life.  The  Senorita,  you  say,  has  always 
been  good  to  you.  Don't  you  turn  upon  her  like  a  snake.  Hush 
up,  and  keep  her  secrets,  as  if  they  were  your  own." 

"  Well,  it  ain't  so  much  her  secret  as  my  Lord's  !  Oh  !  Matro, 
if  you  kiK'w  what  a  born  devil  he  is,  and  how  he's  killing  the 
poor  young  lady — murdering  her  very  soul  and  body  !'' 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  the  outlaw,  musingly — "Ha!"      A  new 


A  SUDDEN   THOUGHT.  269 

ight  seemed  to  dawn  upon  him  ;  and  he  paused,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  J  liana's  shoulder.  "  I  see  !  Don't  you  say  a  word 
more!  Don  Balthazar — but  no  matter.  Show  me  now  how  to 
muzzle  this  old  hag,  Sylvia." 

In  a  few  moments,  the  two  had  disappeared  within  the  dwell 
ing. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

Here  be  rare  plotting*.     There's  more  mischief  in  that  one  head,  and  that  oily  tongve 
•  in  all  the  country." 


SYLVIA,  that  arch  beldame,  as  Juana  esteemed  her,  in  the  sov 
ereignty  of  her  domain,  below  stairs,  was,  at  this  moment,  in  the 
enjoyment  of  her  highest  felicity.  She  had  a  good  supper  be 
fore  her ;  her  toils  of  the  day  were  ended,  and  she  was  congrat 
ulating  herself  upon  the  ease  and  security  with  which  she  could 
command  all  the  comforts  which  were  necessary  to  the  creature. 
Supper  over,  she  would  sleep,  and  the  dreams  that  would 
follow  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  be  all  very  pleasant  ones. 
But  Fortune  plays  fine  tricks  with  human  securities,  and  the 
Fates  are  always  busy  to  thwart  pleasant  anticipations;  making 
no  sort  of  difference  between  those  of  the  nobleman  and  those  of  the 
drudge.  Humble  as  was  Sylvia's  secret  of  happiness,  it  was  des 
tined  to  disappointment;  and  care  nestled  in  the  cup,  the  grate 
ful  beverage  of  which  she  was  about  to  carry  to  her  lips.  In  this 
very  moment,  the  cruel  and  capricious  fortune,  in  the  aspect  of 
the  mestizo,  Mateo,  stood  quietly  behind  the  old  woman,  prepared 
to  cast  the  sack  over  her  head.  Suddenly  she  felt  a  rude  gripe 
of  huge,  strange  fingers  about  her  throat,  utterly  denying  her 
the  privilege  to  scream  ; — almost  to  breathe  !  Hardly  had  she 
been  thus  surprised,  when  a  shawl  was  passed  about  her  jaws, 
effectually  shutting  out  the  supper,  and  just  as  effect ually  shutting 
in  all  sound.  She  strove  desperately  In  shriek,  but  the  voice  <lird 
away  in  a  hoarse  but  faint  gurgling  in  her  throat.  She  was  in  the 
hands  of  an  adroit  enemy.  Mateo  was  dexterous  in  his  vocation. 
He  had  enjoyed  some  practice  in  his  outlawed  life.  The  eyes  of 
tfce  old  woman  were  soon  enveloped  in  another  bandage^  and  a* 

«70 


THE    IIEIK.S   TAK1NCJ    POSSESSION.  271 

completely  denied  to  aer,  as  her  month  to  speak  ur  swallow.  A 
ftOUt  OOrd  WM  then  passed  febout  her  arms,  and  thus  rendered 
korsdu  combat,  she  might  be  trusted  safely.  Every  obstacle  was 
thu>  removed  from  the  way  of  the  conspirators,  and  Mateo  now 
gave  the  >Lmal  tor  the  appearance  of  Juana,  who,  till  this  mo 
ment,  had  kept  in  the  background.  She  was  not  long  in  show 
ing  herself.  Mateo,  in  the  meanwhile,  coolly  took  his  place  at  the 
table  which  bore  the  supper  of  Sylvia,  and  his  appetite  being  in 
vigorated,  we  may  suppose,  by  long  abstinence  and  previous  toils, 
he  proceeded  to  its  demolition  in  a  manner  which  would  have 
shocked  the  true  proprietor,  could  she  have  seen.  She  suspected 
no  doubt  what  was  in  progress,  but  there  was  no  remedy.  She  had 
to  submit  whh  as  much  resignation  as  she  could  command. 

•iwhile,  Juana  was  otherwise  busied  in  making  inquest  into 
the  secrets  of  the  prison-house.  Mateo  soon  joined  her,  and  the 
leading  purpose  of  the  conspirators  was  soon  made  apparent. 
There  were  elosets  thrown  wide,  and  boxes  torn  open.  All  the 
goods  and  chattels,  the  accumulations  of  old  Anita,  to  which  Syl 
via  had  so  iniietly  succeeded,  were  brought  out  from  their  hid 
ing-places.  One  may  conjecture  tin-  variety  of  trea>urcs  which 
had  been  aceiimulatcd  by  both  these  ancient  beldames,  in  the 
cour>e  of  half  a  century  of  peculation.  But  the  details  must  be 
left  to  conjecture.  Our  purpo-c  is  not  a  catalogue.  Mateo  and 
.Juana  were  equally  busy.  The  latter  knew  where  to  look,  and  the 
former  how  to  secure.  His  machete  did  good  service  in  forcing 
open  boxes;  and  every  sick  \\hiehcoiildbe  found,  was  appro 
priated  to  the  compact  accumulation  of  the  scattered  treasurer 
Slung  upon  the  l»n>ad,  >tn>ng  shoulders  of  the  outlaw,  they  dis 
appeared  one  by  one;  tran>ferr.-d,  in  brief  space,  from  the  h< 
to  the  adjoining  \voo«K}  when-.  It  the  mestizo  had  season 

ably  provided  a  sort  of  cart  for  their  better  conveyance  toother 
hiding-places.  The  work  was  done  by  a  practiced  hand,  and  very 
effectually. 

Silvia  could  readily  conjecture  what  was  going  on,  but  she  was 
only  able  to  groan  and  grieve  internally.  She  did  not  remain 
passive,  however,  and  rose  up,  blinded  and  muzzled,  and  corded 


VASCONSELOS. 

as  she  was,  with  more  than  one  effort  to  interfere.  It  was  onlj 
by  one  or  two  emphatic  exhortations  from  the  heavy  fists  uf  the 
outlaw,  that  she  was  persuaded  of  the  better  policy  of  submitting, 
without  farther  struggles,  to  her  fate. 

Supposing  this  work  to  be  fairly  over,  and  Mateo  in  full  p<>s 
session  of  all  his  mother's  chattels ;  perhaps  of  others  also,  to 
which  that  amiable  woman  could  never  assert  any  claim,  the  out 
law  found  it  becoming  to  transfer  his  attentions  to  another  of  tin- 
household.  His  next  work  was  with  the  master. 

We  have  seen  that  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro  was  disposed  to 
indulge  in  a  somewhat  meditative  mood ;  one,  however,  in  which 
conscience  was  allowed  to  play  only  a  subordinate  part  to  philos 
ophy.  The  pleasant  fumes  of  the  cigar,  the  grateful  potency  of 
the  wine-flask,  the  genial  sweetness  of  the  climate,  had  together. 
as  we  have  seen,  induced  finally  a  very  grateful  condition  of  rev- 
cry,  in  which  the  thoughts  of  the  mind  accommodated  themselves, 
with  a  rare  condescension,  to  the  humors  of  the  body.  The  re 
sult  was  a  condition  of  complacent  happiness,  which  was  stripped 
of  all  apprehensions.  There  wrere  no  clouds  in  his  sky,  that  he 
could  perceive ;  and  for  the  troubles  of  his  hearth,  it  was  sur 
prising  how  slight  they  seemed,  and  how  soon  they  we. re  dis 
persed,  as  he  meditated  his  good  fortune,  his  own  resource^,  and 
brought  the  energies  of  his  will  to  bear  upon  the  future.  It  was 
only  to  get  Philip  de  Vasconselos  out  of  his  path; — and  for  this 
object  he  had  several  schemes,  even  if  the  love-sick  damsel  should 
fail  to  assert  her  virtuous  resolution  to  reject  him  ; — to  get  ( >!ivia 
out  to  her  plantation,  and  under  proper  surveillance  there  ;  and 
then  for  the  gold  regions  of  the.  Apalachian,  and  one  or  two  cam 
paigns.  His  ambition  was  not  asleep  during  all  these  speculat  iims. 
His  appetites  demanded  free  floods  of  gold  ;  he  required  eaptivu 
red  men  for  slaves  ;  he  had  fancies  of  royal  favor,  aiul  did  not  sec. 
why  he,  too,  should  not  become  the  Adelantado  of  newly-dU-.-v- 
ered  and  treasure-yielding  provinces.  It  is  rarely  that  ambition 
is  satisfied  with  a  single  field  of  eon<jiie>t.  It  throws  out  its  c/n- 
tennce  in  all  directions;  it  grasps  wide,  right  and  left,  and  baits 
for  all  the  fish  in  the  sea  ;  is  a>>  ea^-r  after  power  as  money  ; 


THE   RE  VERY    DISTURBED.  273 

after  slaves  us  conquest ;  after  love,  or  lust,  as  in  the  soul-starv 
ing  search  after  gold.     Don  Balthazar,  reclined  on  his  cane  sofa, 

1  thrown  back,  cigar  in  mouth,  and  wine-flask  at  his  elbow, 
was  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  great  variety  of  very  grateful  antici 
pations.  How  the  coldest  and  sternest  of  men  may  become 
dreamers,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  insist,  with  the  experienced 

ler. 

It  was  the  very  moment  when  his  dreaming  mood  was  most 
active,  and  must  serenely  MM-UIV  in  the  possession  of  the  most 
teeming  fancies,  that  Mateo,  the  outlaw,  chose  for  appearing  in 
the  presence  of  the  knight.  Now,  we  must  do  the  mestizo  the 
jusiii-e  to  say  that  it  was  no  part'of  his  design  to  disperse  the 
pleasant  fancies  of  the  Don,  or  to  overthrow  the  castles  of  delight 
and  strength  which  his  imagination  was  riveting.  To  Mateo  it 
would  be  of  no  sort  of  moment,  how  wildly,  or  how  pleasantly, 
the  knight  might  dream.  He  might  smile  contemptuously 
upon  such  employments,  but  that  he  should  deliberately  set  him 
self  in  hostility  to  the  worker  for  their  overthrow,  is  really  not 
to  be  thought  of.  Bad  fellow  as  he  undoubtedly  was.  ^fateo 
was  not  so  malicious.  He  had  very  different,  and  more  solid 
purpose*.  If,  in  his  prosecution  of  these,  the  dreams  of  Don 
Balthazar  happened  to  be  dispersed,  the  evil  was  unintended  ; 
and,  we  have  no  doubt,  if  properly  apprised  of  what  he  had  un 
wittingly  done,  he  would  have  expn  ><ed  his  devout  contrition. 

duly  he  little  conjectured   of  what  a  golden  domain  he  dis- 
i   his  ancient  master  in  the  course  of  a  very  little  space 
of  time. 

•  enteivd  the  apartment  of  the  Hidalgo  without  disturb 
ing  hi-  revery,     He  did  not  enter,  after  the  fobioa  of  ordinary 

visitors,  through  the  door.  Mateo  was  no  ordinary  outlaw.  Not 
that  he  preferred  the  more  laborious  process  of  ascending  a 
in  of  the  verandah  and  climbing  in  through  the  window, 
lint  simpU  because  the  do<»r  was  bolted  «.n  the  in-idc.  I>. -n 
Balthazar  wa>  a  man  of  precaution- — a  politician  who  knew  that 
WT<  ri  I  .'.  tpro  •  rly  to  be  enjoyed.  imle«  with  a] 

»ble  securities  first  taken.     That  he  left  his  window  unfastened 
12* 


274  VASCONSELOS. 

which  opened  upon  the  verandah,  was  simply  to  admit  the  breeze, 
and  he  never  once  fancied  that  his  reveries  could  render  him 
oblivious  to  the  approach  of  any  less  light-footed  visitor.  He 
was  mistaken.  Mateo  made  his  way  in,  without  disturbing  his 
sense  of  security.  Not  that  he  was  not  heard.  Don  Balthazar 
was  sensible  to  the  rustling  of  the  orange-tree  beside  the  veran 
dah;  he  heard  the  branches  scrape  rather  roughly  upon  the 
column.  But  that  might  be  occasioned  by  the  puff  of  wind  that 
smote  just  then  gratefully  over  his  brow  and  bosom  ;  and  so 
believing,  his  eyes  were  shut,  and  the  thick  volume  of  smoke 
went  up  from  his  cigar,  increasing  in  nlHss  as  the  exciting  vision 
of  future  lordships  in  Florida  rose  before  his  imagination. 

On  a  sudden  he  was  awakened  to  full  consciousness.  Ilis 
atmosphere  grew  heavier.  It  seemed  as  if  his  fancies  found  some 
obstruction,  and  could  no  longer  spread  their  wings  as  freely  as 
before.  He  felt  as  if  there  were  some  antagonist  influence  in  his 
sky,  which  had  suddenly  darkened  all  his  bright  stars.  And  this 
consciousness  certainly  preceded  the  opening  of  his  eyes.  He 
had  not  yet  opened  them,  when  his  ears  were  saluted  with  tne 
tones  of  a  strange  speaker,  and  in  language  well  calculated  to 
startle  and  drive  him  from  his  world  of  visions. 

"Well,  I  must  say,  your  Excellency,  that  you  are  very  com 
fortable  here." 

We  have  preferred  putting  the  patois  of  our  mestizo  into 
tolerably  correct  language,  taking  for  granted  that  the  reader 
will  readily  suppose  that  there  were  certain  differences  between 
the  speech  of  the  outlaw  and  his  superior.  This  will  suffice  for 
explanation.  We  have  no  taste  for  that  sort  of  literature  which 
makes  the  vulgar  speak  viciously,  when  what  they  have  to  say 
can  as  well  be  said  in  tolerable  phrase  and  grammar. 

Don  Balthazar  forgot  to  smoke.  The  cigar  dropped  from  his 
opening  lips.  His  eyes  unclosed.  His  head  was  partly  raised. 
Never  did  visage  more  express  confounding  wonderment.  There., 
quietly  seated  on  the  settee  directly  opposite,  was  the  outlaw, 
whom  he  had  given  it  in  charge  to  his  alguazils  to  arrest.  How 
came  he  there1?  Was  he  not  in  bonds?  Were  the  alguazils  in 


AN    i  MK    VISITOR.  275 

waiting?  'IVy  had  probably  taken  the  fugitive,  and  were  at 
hand.  All  those  conjectures,  and  many  others,  passed  through 
the  brain  of  the  Hidalgo  in  a  single  moment  of  time.  But  they 
were  dismissed  a-  rapidly  as  conceived.  The  outlaw  had  no 
appearance  of  constraint.  He  looked  rather  like  a  conqueror 
than  a  captive.  There  were  no  eliains  about  his  body  or  his 
wrist.  Never  sat  mortal  v,,  perfectly  at  his  ease,  his  great  bulk 
covering  half  of  the  slight  cane  settee  of  which  he  had  taken  pos- 

-ion.  There  was  a  good-natured  mockery,  too,  in  his  • 
that  betrayed  no  sense  <•!'  inconvenience.  It  was  evident,  at  a 
••nd  glance,  that  he  \vas  not  only  no  prisoner,  but  not  aware, 
himself,  of  any  risk  of  becoming  one.  There  wa^  a  great  knife 
in  his  belt,  conspicuous,  which  the  eyes  of  Don  Balthaxar  fastened 
upon.  It  wa<  the  very  weapon  with  which  the  matador  had  slain 
the  bull.  The  Don  began  to  feel  uneasy. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  he  inquired  ;  though  he  need  not  have  done 
•0  ;   (or  he  knew  the  intruder  the  instant  he  set  eyes  upon  him. 

n't  your  Kxcelleney  know?" 
«  No !— who  ?  " 

•'  Your  Excellency   has  a  bad   memory   for  old  acquaintance. 
Don't  you  remember  Mateo,  that  once  belonged  to  the  estate  of 
Don  Felix?" 
"  You  ?  " 

k-  VcS  Senor,  the  same  !  I  was  a  bad  fellow,  you  know,  and 
wouldn't  ^vork.  Work  don't  suit  me.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that, 
I'd  have  kept  on  the  otate  forever,  tor  I  rather  liked  the  pfe 
and  the  li%in.r  *U  \ery  good  But  it's  too  hard  to  have  to  work 
for  the  bread  one  rat*;,  and  I  always  preferred  to  take  it  where  I 
could  Lr,  f  it  without  work.  I  don't  object  to  other  people  d<»in«! 
all  the  work  they  can.  It'-  -,  .  perhaps; — some  must  do 

it,  indeed,  where  all  mu>t    feed  ;   but  1  am  for  leaving  it  to  those 
tli:it    like    it.      I  don't    like  it.  and  a*  long  u*  I  can  get    mv  bread 
without  digging  fi.r  it,  I'll  do 
"You  killed  IVdroGutierr. 

;ly:    beOttlM    he  would    make   me   work!    It  was  all  his 
fault.     I  warned  him  that  I  wouldn't  work  ;  that  it  didn't  agreo 


276  VASCONSELOS. 

with  me  ;  that  I  didn't  like  it.  He  tried  to  force  me,  and  blows 
followed  ;  and  he  got  the  worst  of  them.  If  he  was  killed,  he 
brought  it  on  his  own  head." 

"  You  are  a  murderer,  and  an  outlaw." 

"  Good  words,  your  Excellency, — good  words  !  What's  the  use 
of  fouling  your  Excellency's  mouth  with  bad  ones'?  I  don't  care 
much  about  words  at  any  time  ;  but  sometimes  they  make  me 
angry.  I  don't  want  to  be  angry  now,  as  I'm  in  a  special  good 
humor,  and  there's  no  need  to  quarrel  with  old  acquaintance.  I 
have  not  seen  you  so  long  that  it  does  me  real  good  to  look  upon 
you.  Your  Excellency  don't  seem  to  be  much  changed.  There's 
a  little  more  of  the  salt  in  your  hair,  your  Excellency,  and  it 
shows  a  little  in  your  beard,  now  that  you  let  it  grow  so  long. 
You  should  use  some  of  our  black  root  die,  which  will  make  the 
hair  as  young  as  when  you  were  only  twenty  ! " 

The  blood  of  the  knight  was  boiling  in  his  veins.  But  he  tried 
to  be  cool,  and  with  great  apparent  calmness,  said — 

"  Do  you  know,  Mateo,  that  if  you  are  once  taken  you  will  be 
garoted  without  trial  ?  " 

"  One  must  take  the  tiger,  your  Excellency,  before  you  can 
draw  his  teeth." 

"  But  they  will  take  you  !  You  cannot  resist  a  dozen  men — 
a  troop — an  army.  Now,  I  happen  to  know  that  you  have  been 
heard  of  in  Havana,  and  that  the  alguazils  are  in  search  of 
you." 

"  Ah  !  well !  They  will  hardly  look  for  me  here,  your  Excel 
lency,  and  I  shall  not  be  here  very  long.  I  shall  soon  be  off  for 
the  mountains.  Meanwhile,  I  must  take  my  choice.  Alguazils 
are  very  fine  trencher  men,  but  scarcely  of  much  account  where 
the  only  feed  is  steel  and  bullet.  I  shall  probably  escape  from 
these  of  Havana." 

"  But  what  brings  you  here  now  1 " 

u  Well,  you're  something  concerned  in  the  affair,  though  per 
haps  you  don't  know  it.  I  heard  of  the  death  of  my  pooi 
mother,  Anita  — 

"  Ah  !  yes  ;  true,  she  was  your  mother." 


SETTLING   ACCOUNTS.  277 

"  I  rather  think  your  Excellency  ought  to  know,  since  you've 
been  promising  the  old  woman  to  get  me  pardoned  for  a  long 
time  past.  I  suppose  you  had  good  reasons  for  not  keeping  your 
prom 

"  Yes ;  your  mother  knew.  I  told  her  that  no  pardon  was 
possible  until  you  should  come  in." 

"  Very  clear,  your  Excellency  ;  and  now  that  I've  come  in, 
you  tell  me  that  the  alguazils  are  already  looking  after  me,  and 
that  I  shall  be  garoted  if  caught.  How  do  the  two  stories  tally, 
your  Excellency  ?" 

"  To  come  in  and  surrender,  is  quite  a  different  thing  from 
coming  in  as  you  do  now." 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  it  don't  matter  much  any  way.  As  for  my 
surrender,  your  Excellency,  before  I  have  the  pardon  under  the 
seal  of  the  king's  governor,  it's  not  to  be  talked  of,  it's  so  fool- 
ish." 

"  Then  what  brings  you  now  ?  " 

"  Ah !  I  was  telling  you.  My  mother  died,  your  Excellency 
very  suddenly,  nobody  knows  how.  I  hear  that  she  was  poisoned* 
Senor." 

"  From  whom  do  you  hear  this  1 " 

"  That's  not  necessary  to  be  said.     She  was  poisoned,  and 
have  to  find  out  the  poisoner  and  settle  with  him  "—here  he 
handled  his  machete.     "  It's  his  blood  or  mine,  your  Excellency." 

This  was  said  with  significant  emphasis,  and  such  a  look  as 
showed  the  Don  that  he  himself  was  the  object  of  suspicion. 

"  But  suppose  she  was  poisoned  by  a  woman  f 

"  Then  it's  only  a  little  harder  upon  my  conscience,  and  I  must 
use  a  smaller  knife  than  this.  But  what  woman,  your  Excel- 
lency  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  know  by  whom  the  deed  was  done.  I  have  * 
suspicion  only." 

"  Your  Excellency's  suspicions  are  like  to  be  as  good  as  another 
man's  eviden.-e.  Was  it  the  woman  Sylvia  .'" 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  and  as  I  suspect  only,  I  cannot  say." 

"The  thing  mutt  be  found  out,  your  Excel!. -ncy.     I  am  not  tftt 


278  VASCONSELOS.       _ 

man  to  let  my  mother  be  baited,  like  a  dog  we  hate,  with  poison 
ed  beef.  Your  Excellency  will  find  it  necessary  to  give  me  help 
in  this  discovery.  You  have  not  done  right  by  me.  You  let 
this  woman  Sylvia  take  possession  of  all  m)  mother's  property." 

"  Property  !  Why,  what  property  had  your  mother  ?  She 
was  a  slave !" 

"  Yes,  by  the  laws,  I  know ;  but  your  Excellency  knows  I 
don't  mind  laws,  and  have  my  own.  Now,  1  have  already  taker, 
possession  of  all  my  mother's  property." 

"  The  devil  you  have !" 

"  Exactly  ;  I  took  possession  just  an  hour  ago.  I  tied  up  the 
old  hag  below " 

"  You  have  not  murdered  the  woman  ?" 

"  No !  Only  tied  her  up,  hand  and  tongue.  You  will  find 
her  after  I  am  gone  rather  stiff  in  her  limbs,  and  feeling  the  want 
of  her  supper,  which  I  have  eaten.  The  goods  I  have  carried  ofl 
already,'  and  the  plunder,  were  worth  having,  I  assure  you.  There 
will  be  fine  sights  of  treasure  in  the  mountains  when  I  get  back.' 

The  knight  grew  more  and  more  uneasy.  The  cool  insolence 
of  the  outlaw  was  almost  intolerable.  He  looked  about  him 
with  impatience,  and  his  eyes  turned  involuntarily  to  the  wah 
upon  which  he  had  hung  his  sword  and  dagger.  To  his  surprise 
they  were  gone.  How  had  they  been  taken  away  1  It  was  evi 
dent  that  Mateo  had  been  in  the  chamber  already  that  night,  ot 
some  emissary  ;  and  he  found  himself  completely  in  the  powe* 
of  the  ruffian.  Don  Balthazar  did  not  lack  for  courage  ;  but  tin 
gigantic  frame  of  his  companion  discouraged  at  a  glance  the  mo 
mentary  impulse  which  he  felt  suddenly  to  spring  upon  am 
grapple  with  him  ;  and  he  now  gazed  upon  the  person  whom  h« 
feared  with  an  eye  of  vacancy.  Mateo  seemed  to  read  hi 
thoughts.  He  had  followed  his  glance  to  where  the  weapons  ha* 
been  wont  to  hang,  and  divined  his  feelings.  The  outlaw  laugher 
securely,  with  a  bold,  honest  chuckle  of  security  and  triumph. 

v  Twont  do,  your  Excellency ;  the   game's  in  my  hand, 
could  strangle  you  in  a  moment,  and  slit  your  pipe  before  y*  * 
could  make  any  music  out  of  it.     But  that's  not  what  I  want  40 


THE    BARGAIN.  279 

do.  I'll  not  be  hard  upon  you  ;  that  is,  if  it  is  not  by  you  that 
the  old  woman  was  poisoned.  I  don't  say  'twas  you,  but  I 
have  my  thoughts.  I  know  you  deal  in  poisons  sometimes,  and 
I've  got  a  trail  to  some  of  your  secrets.  What  do  you  think 
now  of  the  Senorita,  the  Lady  Olivia?  She's  a  beauty,  I  know; 
—but  what  do  you  think?" 

The  knight  winced. 

"I  certainly  think  with  you.     She  is  a  beauty." 

"  Ah  !  Don  Baltha/ar,  what  a  pity  it  is  that  you  are  her  uncle, 
and  that  your  hair  is  so  salty  !" 

"  Hark  ye,  Mateo !"  said  the  Hidalgo,  suddenly  rising  to  his 
feet. 

"Sit  down,"  cried  the  outlaw  imperatively,  and  putting  his 
hand  to  his  knife.  "You  can  talk,  and  I  can  hear  just  as  well 
when  both  of  us  >it." 

"  Do  you  think  I  mean  to  harm  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no  !  that  you  can't.     I  could  settle  your  accounts  in  a 
moment;  but  don't  want  the  trouble  of  it.     I  want  you  to 
my  pardon,  I  tell  you,  for  I  want  to  be  free  to  come  and  go  where 
I  please.     I  am  sometimes  cut  off*  from  a  good  bull-light  and  a 
festa,  because  of  the  trouble  with  the  algua/ils." 

"  You  want  a  pardon,  do  you  ?" 

"  Exactly  ;  and  something  more,  your  Excellency.      1  said  that 
I  liked  the  sort  of  living  at  the  old   estate,  and    I    should    like    it 
still  if  I  had  no  work  to  do.     Now.  what  I  want  of  you   is  n..t 
only   to  get    me   a   pardon,    but    to    make   me    ov  -r-eer   for    \\ 
'<•  of  the  Senorita." 

"  Demonios!     What  more  does  your  modesty  recpiire  ?" 

"Very  little  aHer  that." 

"  Put  the  wolf  to  take  eare  of  the  -lu-ep.  .1,  p 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  your  Excellency.     Th,'  fret  i^ 
can't  do  a  better  thing  f«»r  the  in'  .      It's  a  good 

rule  to  set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief;  and  the  man  that  won't  work 
is  either  too  la/y  or  too  knowing.  Now.  your  Excellency,  it's 
not  because  I'm  la/y  that  I  won't  work.  I*'  I'm  too 

proud;  and   I'm   too  proud   because  I'm   too   knowing.     I   can 


280  VASCONSELOS. 

make  others  work,  and  I  know  as  well  as  any  man  how  the  work 
ought  to  be  done.  Try  me,  and  you  shall  see.  If  you  had  tried 
me  before  instead  of  putting  a  blind  bull  over  me,  you'd  have 
done  better,  and  Pedro  Gutierrez  would  never  have  had  his  skull 
opened  suddenly,  to  his  great  disgrace  showing  that  he  had  no 
brains  in  the  shell.  Many  a  man  don't  do,  and  won't  do,  because 
the  right  work  is  not  given  him,  and  the  right  confidence.  Now, 
do  you  try  me,  and  you'll  see  what  I  can  do.  Make  me  your 
overseer,  get  my  pardon  made  out  with  the  royal  seal,  and  give 
my  sister  to  live  with  me,  and  you  will  find  Mateo  as  faithful  as 
a  dog.  Refuse  me,  and  you  keep  me  the  tiger  and  the  outlaw 
that  you  have  made  me." 

Rapid  were  the  thoughts  which  coursed  through  the  knight's 
brain.  The  philosophy  of  the  outlaw  began  to  strike  him  favor- 
ably.  He  reflected — "  This  fellow  can  be  bought.  He  will  do 
any  service  in  return  for  these  things.  He  will  strike  my  foe, 
as  coolly  as  butcher  smites  ox ;  he  will  obey  my  finger  with 
out  questioning.  I  leave  for  Florida.  Olivia  retires  to  the  ha 
cienda.  There,  he  is  supreme  in  my  absence.  Ah !  well !  I 
see!" 

Then  aloud : 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Mateo,  you  are  moderate  in  your  wishes. 
But  suppose  I  comply  with  them  ]" 

"  It  will  be  wise !" 

"  Perhaps  so  !  But  are  you  prepared  to  show  your  devotion 
to  him  who  will  do  for  you  all  this  ?" 

"  Am  I  prepared  to  make  a  profitable  bargain  ?" 

"  Suppose  there  be  a  hateful  serpent  in  my  path  T* 

"  I  will  put  my  heel  upon  his  head  !" 

"  Suppose  there  be  a  wolf  in  my  close  ?" 

u  I  will  put  my  knife  across  his  throat !" 

"  A  mad  bull,  fierce  as  El  Moro,  and  as  strong  ?" 

"  Here  is  the  very  machete  that  slew  El  Moro !" 

"  It  shall  be  done  !  Fill  yourself  a  cup  of  wine,  and  we  will 
speak  farther  of  this  matter.  We  understand  each  other.  It  in 
a  bargain  between  us !" 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

"  This  day  11  ominous, 
Therefore,  come  back." 

TKon.ua  AHD  CHKKDA 

IT  will  not  be  difficult  to  conjecture  what  were  the  terms  which  Don 

Balthazar  was  prepared  to  make  with  the  outlaw,  or  the  character 
of  the  -ervice-  which  the  latter  was  to  render,  by  which  to  se- 
cr.re  the  pard«>n  which  he  dc-ircd  arid  (he  c.fiicc  which  he  claimed 
The  knight  saw.  in  the  appearance  of  Mateo.  the  mean-  by  which 
to  relieve  him-e!f  from  all  danger  at  the  hand-  «.f  Philip  de  Vl* 

consoles.     II     wa-?  one  of  those  person-;  who  readily  adapt  the 

tool  to  their  uses  which  offers  itself  most  readily  to  their  ha' 
and  saw.  at  a  iilan-v.  in  what  way  the  outli  w  conld  promote  his 
purple-.  We  are  not  now  to  be  told  that  he  was  a  man  of  few 
iplea  when  he  was  eager  for  his  objects;  his  fears  and  virtues 
equally  failing  to  suggest  considerations  of  doubt  to  a  very  ductile 
c.m-ciciiee.  Strange  to  say,  the  conditions  which  he  demanded 
•  •f  the  outlaw,  wen-  not  so  readily  accepted  l»y  tliis  pc: 

rail  not  without   his  own  rude  virtue-.      lie  had  li.-en  im- 
pr.-srd  with  the  kniLdi-  and  valor  of  Va»  had 

with  delight    hi-  wonderful  skill  in  the  tournament,  and  had 
hailed    his    Bd<  -  if   he  -liai'cd  in  them.      I>c-idcs,   lie 

aware  of  the  i<.>lation  <>f  the  I'^rtu^in-se  cavalier,  and  well  knew 
the  reluctanc,-  with  which  the  Spaniards  had  acknowledged  h' • 
pi-riority.  Mate«»  had  ton  little  of  tin-  S[>ani-h  blood  in  him  to 
feel  with  them,  and  adversely  to  one  whose  isolation  so  much  re 
minded  him  of  his  own  ;  and  he  pave  him  his  sympathies  on  this 
account,  as  well  as  because  of  his  valiant  b.-arin«r.  Hut  he  was 
a  person  in  a  situation  which  did  not  suffer  him  to  withstand  the 
tempter;  and,  though  -lowly  and  reluctantly,  he,  at  length,  yield 

(281) 


282  VASCOXSELOS. 

ed  to  the  temptation.  He  was  bought  by  the  promise  of  par 
don,  and  the  hope  of  reward  ;  and  consented  to  become  the  as 
sassin  of  the  knight  of  Portugal.  That  night  he  confided  the 
whole  secret  to  his  sister,  Juana,  expecting  her  to  be  gratified 
with  an  arrangement  which  promised  him  security  and  trust,  and 
freedom  to  herself.  But  he  was  confounded  to  find  that  she  saw 
the  affair  in  a  very  different  aspect. 

"Don't  you  believe  Don  Balthazar,  my  brother !"  said  the 
girl.  "  lie  has  some  snare  for  your  feet.  It  was  because  you 
had  him  in  your  power  that  he  made  this  bargain  with  you.  He 
keeps  terms  with  no  one ;  and  I  am  only  afraid  that  he  throws 
dust  in  your  eyes,  while  he  puts  the  alguazils  upon  your  foot 
steps  !  Besides,  you  don't  know  what  a  noble  gentleman  this 
knight  of  Portugal  is." 

"  Don't  I,  then !  Haven't  I  seen  him  with  lance  and  sword  ; 
on  horse  and  foot ;  and  don't  I  know  how  these  Spaniards  hate  and 
fear  him  ?  Jesu  !  It  did  my  heart  good  to  see  how  he  carried  him 
self; — how  he  managed  the  horse  and  lance,  and  made  the  sword 
fly,  here  and  there,  at  every  point  in  the  heavens,  wherever  the 
enemy  attacked.  Oh  !  but  I  do  know  him,  and  I  was  very  loth 
to  promise  to  lift  knife  against  his  breast !" 

"  And  why  did  you  do  it  ?" 

"  Demonios  !  What  was  I  to  do  1  Here  was  my  own  pardon 
offered  me,  your  freedom,  and  the  whole  charge  of  the  hacienda.1' 

"  You  will  get  none  of  these !  Don  Balthazar  means  only  to 
betray  thee.  He  wishes,  no  doubt,  to  get  this  knight  of  Por 
tugal  out  of  his  way;  for  there  are  precious  reasons,  my  brother, 
why  he  should  fear  the  presence  of  the  Portuguese.  Ah  !  if  thou 
knew'st!  But  when  thou  hast  done  the  service,  then  will  he  be 
the  first  to  denounce  thee.  He  is  a  bit  In-  traitor.  His  whole 
life  is  a  treachery.  His  heart  is  full  of  serpents.  He  has  lied 
to  thee  with  sweetness,  and  thou  hast  tasted  of  the  sweetness 
till  thou  dost  not  feel  the  poison !  He  is  a  poisoner!  Ah!  if 
thou  knew'st !  Know  I  not  that  he  keeps  many  poisons  in  his 
closet?  Did  I  not  tell  thee  that  our  mother  died  by  poison? 
Whence  did  it  come  ?" 


ju ANA'S  SUSPICIONS.  283 

"  1L-  .-a\  >  ;i  woman  poisoned  her." 

"A  woman!      lie   might  ju-t  as  well   liave  said  that  I  did  it. 

or  ilu-  I.a-lv  Olivia.     There  was  none  other  to  do  it;   for  Sylvia 

rame  hither  uiily  after  our  muther  wa<  dead.      N«>!    no!  Mateo, 

he  was  tlie  poi-uiier.  IK-  sure;    and  thou  ha-t  .-old  thy>e!f  to  do 

this  ha-!  man's  had  work,  making  the  good  man  thy  victim,  only 

.   on   his  poison  thyself,  when  thou  little  dreumVt   of  Midi 

,r!" 

••  II  i-h  up,  child!  He  dare  not  deceive  me!  Let  him  try  it  ! 
Let  me  hut  find  him  at  his  treachery,  and  1  will  >lit  his  throat 
with  a  wh 

uAh!  if  he  *be  not  too  quick  for  thec.  I  nothing  douht  that 
he  will  have  the  ulguazils  upon  thy  step-  hcf.nv  another  day  is 
over." 

"  1  >hall  keep  mine  ryes  ahoiit  me,  girl  ;  and,  hark  tliee.  1  >hall 

hide  here    in    these   thickets,  and    thou    shalt    feed    me   from  the 

house.     They  will  never  dream  of  looking  for  me  here.      1  know 

irs  when  to   steal    forth,  hut   hither  will    I    OOffiB  to   sleep. 

1  >oM  thou  hear  P1 

"Yes!  It  i<  hr-t.  perhaps.  The  plan  is  a  good  one.  Bill 
thou  wilt  not  kill  this  knight  of  Portugal  to  pleasure  this  had 
man 

"It  muM.  he  done!  1  will  do  as  1  have  >aid  ;  and  if  Don  Bal- 
tha/.ar.  then.  do,->  not  as  he  hath  -worn  to  me,  I  will  cut  out  his 
lyiiiLr  tongue,  and  hi-  >hall  see  me  eat  it  ere  he  43 

\Ve  nei'd  not  farther  pursue  the  conference,  which  ended  in  an 
arrangfiMent    hy  which   the    outlaw,  unknown  to  any  hut  .luana, 
tin-l  his  nightly  refuge,  in  tin  and  harhoring  places 

hclonging  to  the  ground-  of  the  knight '>  o\sn  dwelling,  and  lie 
supplied  with  food  at  her  hands.  He  WSU  alflO  to  time  carefully 
his  nmm,  nt-  of  >allying  forth;  and  it  wa-  deemed  only  a  proper 
.'ion  that  Don  Baltha/ar  was  not  to  know  where  lie  har 
bored,  -ir  he  permitted  any  knowledge  of  hi-  movement-; 
events,  until  it  was  certain  that  Juana's  -u-picioiis  were  ground- 

This  conference  took  place  f  tlu-  hou-c,  and  among 


284  VASCONSELOS. 


the  thick  groves  by  which  it  was  environed.     While  it  was  in 
progress,  Don  Balthazar  contrived  *x>  find  his  way  into  the  do 
main  of  Sylvia,  and   five  her  from  her  unpleasant  bandaging. 
He  affected  great  surprise  at  her  condition,  and  gave  her  no  Hues 
to  the  secret  of  it.     Nor,  while  he  was  present,  did  she  conjee. 
ture  who  was  the  bold  rufiian  by  whom  she  had  been  plundered. 
But  scarcely  had  the  knight  re-tired,  when  she  received  a  gleam 
of  intelligence  from  a  simple  discovery  enough.     The  bandage 
about  her  eyes  was  a  scarf  which  she  had  often  seen  in  the  j-...s 
session  of  Juana--that,  or  one  very  much  like  it.     Now,  win-n 
one  is  disposed  to  dislike,  or  suspect,  the  proofs  rapidly  accumu 
late.     This  discovery,  though  by  no  means  conclusive — since  the 
rufiian  might  very  well  have  caught  up,  and  made  use  of,  the  scarf 
of  the  innocent  serving-maid — yet  set  the  memories  and  wits  ,»t% 
old  Sylvia  busy.     She'  saw  the  mystery  at  a  glance.     Was  not 
Mateo  the  brother  of  Jiiana; — was  not  Mateo  an  outlaw; — and 
had  she  not  heard   that  Mateo  had  been  seen  in  the  bull-fi«rht. 
and  that  her  excellent  master — ever  to  be  honored — had  actual!  v 
set  certain  algua/ils  upon  his  footsteps?     Nay,  did  not  Don  Bal 
thazar,  only  t\vo  nights  before,  give  her  warning  to  keep  a  Hos-e 
eye  upon  Juana,  for  that  the  outlaw,  her  brother,  was  at  hand  ? 
And,  (),  shame  to  her  prudence,  had  she   not  been  too  careless 
of  this  counsel ;   and  was  it  not  for  this  very  incauliuiisness  that 
she  had   fallen  a  victim  to  the   robber!     Now  it  was  that  she 
remembered  the  frequent  stealthy  absences  of  the  girl  at  night — 
her  window  open — her  chamber  empty — and   a  hundred   other 
matters;  which,  in  her  present  keen  suspicions,  wen-  proofs  like 
holy  writ — confirmations   strong — not  to  be  gainsayed    in   any 
court  of  justice. 

S)lvia  was  resolved  in  her  suspicions.  They  were  clear 
enough  as  proofs.  "  And  now,'1  mused  the  sagacious  old  woman. 
"how  to  recover  my  property — how  to  enjoy  my  revenge*!  I 
see  through  the  whole  aflair.  Juana  harbors  her  brother  AM 
Truly,  a  most  excellent  notion,  that  of  making  the  house  of  the 
most  noble  knight,  Don  Balthazar,  the  place  of  renige  for  thp 


SYLV1AV  1'LA.NS.  285 

very  outlaw  whom  he  has  sent  the  algua/ils   to  find!    But  I  will 

•o  much  for  them  both— they  sh.-Ul  B66l  they  shall  » 
Her  plans  were  soon  devised,  and  the  very  next,  morning, 
bright  «nd  early,  she  sallied  forth  on  sonic  professedly  innocent 
pretences.  We  need  not  foll<.\v  her  footsteps,  but  content  our 
selves  with  reporting,  in  brief,  tin-  object  of  her  expedition.  It 
was  to  seek  out  the  algua/ils— the  chief  of  them,  rather— and  lie- 
stow  upjm  him  the  benefit  of  her  discovery .  She  made  an  effort 
to  see  Don  Balthazar,  and  to  enlighten  him  on  the  subject;  but, 
to  her  surprise,  he  s« -eined  to  have  left  the  hacienda  after  reliev 
ing  her  of  her  bonds.  He  did  not  again,  that  night,  occupy  his 
own  chamber;  possibly,  localise  of  its  assumed  insecurity;  and 
during  the  day  following,  he  did  not  re-appear.  He  was  busy 
in  the  city. 

while,   what  of  Olivia— the  poor  victim,  torn    by  love  on 
the  one  hand,   by  a  bitter  consciousness  of  wrong  and  shame  on 
the    other;    by    passions   which    she    could   not   control,    by    t 
which    she   dared    not    name;    by    vague,    vain    hopes,   which     fluc 
tuated    in   a   sort   of   shadowy   existence   in    her   soul,    keeping  her 
restless,   dreaming   of    povsibilities,  and   the   most   mocking    fai 
which  left  her,  half  the  time,  in  the  greatest   uncertainty  of  reason! 
HIT    health   seemed   to  improve,    however,    and,    though   pale   and 
sad   as  ever,  then-    were   symptoms  of   better   spirits   ami    a  gr 
chei-rfulne-v      I.ove    itself    was    her    only    stimulant,    while    it   was 
al-o  one  of  her   ino-t    dNturbim:   griefs.     The  image   of   Philip  de 

Y«T   present    to   her   imagination,    comir, 

clothed  with  promise.  The  more  -he  ivtleeted  upon  the  p: 
bility  of  his  addressing  her.  the  more  she  iM-iran  to  doubt  of  her 
own  strength  to  say  him  nay.  lint,  even  then,  her  eon-denee 
smote  her  with  the  criminality  of  consent;  and  she  would  thus 
sink  back  into  hopeleasoeM  and  sorrow.  Hut  why  VTM  i'  that 
he  came  not?  To  this  inquiry,  which  again  suggested  a  painful 
doubt  of  her  conquest— painful  still,  though  she  had  resolved  to 
ct  his  suit— her  lively  friend.  Leonora  de  Tobar.  bn-u-ht  a 
sutlicicntly  explanatory  answer.  He  was  close  in  attendance 
upon,  and  anxious  for  the  -at.iy  of,  his  sick  brother.  Now,  how 


28(j  VASCONSELOS. 

<;ver,  that  Andres  was  out  of  danger,  Olivia  might  look  to  see 
him  soon.  She  spent  that  morning  with  the  unhappy  damsel, 
and  her  lively  prattle  alternately  cheered  and  depressed  her. 
When  --he  was  gone,  Olivia  made  her  toilet  with  more  than 
usual  rare.  Why  ?  The  words  of  Leonora  assured  her  that  she 
might  surely  look  for  Don  Philip's  coining  soon — that  very  day 
perhaps  ;  and  it  was  with  an  interest  which  the  poor  girl  dared 
not  acknowledge  to  herself,  that  she  arrayed  her  charms,  to  the 
best  possible  advantage  ;  and  gazed  with  a  sorrowful  sort  of  sat 
isfaction  into  the  mirror  which  reflected  them  to  her  eyes.  Then 
she  sighed,  with  the  sudden  rush  of  her  fancies  from  the  seat  of 
conscience,  rebuked  by  the  stern  judgment  of  that  sacred  mon 
itor. 

"Wherefore,"  she  murmured  to  herself;  "wherefore  this 
beauty — this  solicitude  to  appear  beautiful  in  his  eyes  ?  Alas  ! 
my  soul,  I  cannot  do  him  this  great  dishonor.  I  can  never 
doom  his  noble  heart  to  such  infamy  as  embrace  of  me  will 
bring  !" 

She  sank  away  from  the  mirror — she  threw  herself  upon  her 
coueh,  and  buried  her  face  within  her  hands.  The  next  moment 
the  girl,  Juana.  was  ga/ing  upon  her  with  a  look  of  sympathizing 
•nte.'vst,  which  touched  her  soul.  The  girl  looked  into  the  cham 
ber  only  to  disappear. 

"  Mtulre  <le  Diosf"  Olivia  murmured  to  herself:  "Can  it  be 
that  she  knows — that  she  suspects  ?" 

And  with  the  doubt,  the  apprehension  grew  to  terror. 

"  1  am  at  the  rnercy,  O!  Heavens,  of  the  meanest  slave  !" 

Tin;  fear  was  followed  by  an  agonizing  burst  of  grief!  The 
day  was  one  of  perpetual  doubts  and  apprehensions.  But  it 
pa-<ed  away  without  events.  Vasconselos  did  not  appear,  as 
L«"»nora  had  conjectured,  and  as  Olivia  had  hoped — and  feared  ! 
Her  doubt*  and  fears  grew  strengthened.  If  her  secret  was  in 
the  possession  of  the  slave,  Juana,  it  was  a  secret  no  longer! 
That  it  should  have  reached  the  ears  of  Philip,  was  her  new 
terror  !  It  pro-t  rated  her  for  awhile  !  Half  the  night  was  passed 
in  tears  and  terrors,  which  were  so  many  agonies.  She  could 


OUTLAW'S  HIDING  PLACE.  287 

oear  his  loss— she  could  be  content  to  give  him  up  forever — but 
th;it  he  should  know  her  shame  ;  that  his  noble  soul  should  be 
come  conscious  of  the  deadly  stain  upon  hers — that  she  could 
never  hear,  and  live!  She  prayed  for  death.  In  her  secret 
thought  Arose  a  vague  feeling,  which  brought,  and  commended 
to  her,  the  fatal  poison,  with  which,  unwittingly,  her  hand  had 
red  death  upon  Anita.  Were,  there  not  other  drops  of 
silence,  and  sleep,  and  safety  in  that  fatal  phial  ?  Where  was  it  1 
She  would  look  for  it !  She  would  find  it,  and  at  the  worst,  she 
would  sleep;  and  all  these  terrible  agonies  of  thought  would 
have  an  end  !  In  the  deep  stillness  of  the  midnight  hour,  the 
unhappy  damsel  resolved  on  suicide.  But  there  were  other 
drops  of  bitterness  in  her  cup  of  misery,  which  she  was  yet  to 
drink  to  the  dregs.  Let  us  not  anticipate,  but  follow  the  fortunes 
of  other  persons  of  our  drama. 

Sylvia  had  made  her  way  to  the  alguazils,  and    had  put  them 
in  possession  of  all  the  clues  which  she  had  procured,  leading  to 
the  pathways   and   hiding-places  of  the  outlaw,  Mateo.     Once 
roused   to  suspicion.  >he   had    found    numerous  reasons  t*.r  con 
firming  her  in  her  conjectures.     She  noted  all  the  outgoii 
•Juana.     She  watched  her  with  lecrecy,  and  comparative  su 
and   though   she  did   not  see    Mateo.  >he  yet    arrived  at  a  \vr\ 
-hre\\d  notion  of  the  thickets  in  which  he  might  be  found.     The 
haiienda  which    Don    Baltha/ar   and   his    niece   occupied,  though 
smaller  than  the  .->tatc  which  he  cultivated   t«»r  her.  was  \ 
of  considerable  ran^c  in  Lrr<>ve  and  forc-t.      It  had  numerous  dim 
avenues  of  shade  and  silence.      There  were   military  walks  which 
frequented.      Th-Te  w.-re  hollows  aiming  the  wooded  hills 
which    might    have    harbored    a   hermit.      It    seems     that    M  .'     > 
knew  the  place.      He    possessed    hi m-cif  « >f  i; -  \  ari< »us    h;umt>  ; 
:uid.  but  for  the  too  eager  de-ire  of  .luana  to  seek    him    out,  and 
be  with  him  when  there  was  no  necessity  for  it,  the  old  \\ 
would    probably  neve-    hi  •.•«!  his  propinquity.      Had  th»* 

girl    been    content  to  seek    him    only  at  night,  and   t«>   carry   him 
food  but  once  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  and  then  und. 
the  darknesa,  he  had  been  safe.     But  the  girl  loved   h»-r  kn 


•mil  was  very  proud  of  his  prowess.  Besides,  alter  the  death  of 
Anita,  she  needed  the  solace  of  association  with  the  only  kinsinau 
left  her.  She  gratified  this  desire,  and  sought  to  gratify  him, 
twenty  times  a  day,  perhaps  ;  stealing  forth  with  fruits  and  deli 
cacies,  with  nice  morsels  from  the  kitchen,  and  with  an  occa  ion.il 
«vine-flask,  or  the  remains  of  one,  whenever  she  could  appropri 
ate  it  with  impunity.  But  the  eye  of  Sylvia  was  upon  her  ;  and 
she  noted  the  direction  taken  by  the  footsteps  of  the  girl.  It  was 
surprising  with  what  correctness  she  conjectured  the  harboring 
places  of  the  fugitive,  from  these  observations,  and  lu-r  own 
knowledge  of  the  grounds.  She  put  all  her  clues  into  the  keep 
ing  of  the  alguazils-.  The  result  was,  that  before  sunset,  some 
half  do/en  of  them  were  quietly  skirting  the  hacienda,  divided 
into  two  parties,  and  gradually  contracting  their  circuits  about 
the  suspected  place  of  refuge. 

Mateo,  meanwhile,  never  dreamed  of  danger  from  this  source. 
It  is  true  that  Juana  had  her  doubts  of  the  good  faith  of  Don 
Baltha/ar,  and  labored  to  inspire  him  with  similar  doubts.  In 
some  degree  she  succeeded,  so  as  in  fact  to  make  him  circum 
spect  as  possible.  But  the  great  gain  of  security,  of  freedom, 
and  high  trust,  which  the  Hidalgo  had  promised,  were  considera 
tions  quite  too  grateful  and  tempting  not  to  prevail  in  the  argu 
ment  addressed  to  the  confidence  of  the  outlaw;  who,  besides, 
seemed  to  understand  very  well  why  the  uncle  of  Olivia  should 
desire  to  get  Don  Philip  de  Yasconsclos  removed  from  the  path. 

It  was  not  with    any    satisfaction    that    Mateo    contemplated   the 

luty  assigned  him.  lie  would  rather  have  killed  any  two  other 
;iicp  in  Havana  than  this  one  Portuguese.  But,  as  he  said, 
•k  What  am  I  to  do?  I  can't  be  a  fugitive  always,  flying  for  safe- 
>\  ;  aii<!  to  be  my  own  master  is  a  great  deal  to  one  who  don't 
like  to  work  ;  and  to  «rrt  into  a  snug  ofl'n-e.  when-  I  can  compel 
.ithei-s  to  do  the  thing  \\hieh  1  don't,  like  to  do  mvseU',  is  eeruiinly 

\e-\    |. !«-:i-. u:t  '      IV-id.'-.  it' I  d«>u't    tak«-  ih"  1  'ort H^u- -sc.  in  hand, 
:i   Ualth-j/ar  will  only  employ  som-b^h    ,  !  :,      •    II 

,  ,  will    no!    do  it  half  BO  \\vll  .    v,  ho  \\ill    botch    the 

si.o  vsil!    give    the  g'Mjd    knight    tiiinccefce  au-l    p<rhap* 


riiiui-'s  VIMT. 

p   him   lin.urrin.LT.     Now   /  will  dNpatch    him   at  a  blow.     It    is 
but    a    stroke    over   tin-    xhoiiMcrs.    and    j,,.    js    ,.au.r|,t    U[,     j,v    ,JM. 

•   ir 1   yoiiiiir  man,  and  in    a   very    proper  >tate 

to  die!  It  must  IK-  done— and  shall  In-!  lint  let  Don  P.altha/ar 
beware  how  he  play,  me  f;,ls<-.  If  I  have  one  death  for  Don 
Philip,  whom  I  rather  love.  I  have  a  do/en  deaths  for  him  whom 
I  hate;  and  he  shall  taste  them  all  if  he  tries  to  make  a  fool  of 
me'  " 

In  this  state  of  mind   was  he  mu-iiii:,  while  tin-  alirua/.ils  were 
skirting   his    hiding-place;    which  happened,   at   this  moment,  to  be 
on    the    verife   of    the    hacienda,    the    point   ii'-aivst    the   city.      Here 
the    thicket    was    most    dense;    without    pathways    or    avenm  - 
ccpt    such    as    nature    had    left    in    a  very    tan-led    piece 
portions   of    which    were    clothed    in    a     mass   of    brush    and     vin- 
almo.xt   loorlosrly  for  the  prOgTCffl  of  a  wild  cat    or  fox,  l>ut  thr- 
which   Mateo    fancied  lie  eoidd   burrow  with   tolerable    ease, ftgSJ 
by    a    f. -w    Itrokefl    of    his    i  ri,(.    ,.,„„„„,„    pathway  from 

the  city  to  the  hacienda  ran  al-.n-  thr  mar-in  of  this  thicket,  and  was 
skirted  by  >..m«-  very  lofly  IP 

It    happened    that    Pliiiip   <!,•  i,,s    had    taken    this    ver. 

evenin-  f«.  visit   the  damsel   \\h..m  hK  admirin-  fancies  had  c!i 
as   tlir    ()iKcn    of    the    tournament.     The    duty    would    have     i 

'lone  before,  but  for  her  indi>po>ition.  the  reports  of  which, 
a!'r":l(1.  ll:l(1  '»•«•'»  \"y  contradictory.  Philip,  thou-h  Aiudoas, 

;Ul(1      llnu       l'"|"-t'ul.     Wl  BUerOOS,      whatc\.-r     his     anxiety, 

to  appear  before  her  while  xl,r  sulTeivd.  He  had  learned  that 
day.  bOWever,  from  Nun.,  de  Tobar.  that  ihfl  IfM  at  Irn-rth  well 

('"(";  !'(l  !'«•   li.-id  choaen  ihe  mo-t  ddi, 

of  thrhouixof  the  day.  in  that  clime  and  BettOO,  to  appro.-,,-!,  her 
will,  his  conirralulations.  i,;,  |]1;mUs,  :m,l  p<,^il,ly  with  the  | 

mpnlhy.    far  he^nd    any    Ihin-   implied   by    !]„.„•.    i,, 

:llltl    •dmlwtkml     The    purpose,    n.-t    uhoiiy    de,-i,ied 

for   Hie   truly    chlvalpOM  are   ftlwayi    timid    in   an   alV.-.ir  of  th«- 

•flections— of  offering  i.e.-  hi.  i.an.i.  ai..l  impio,-  -hl(. 

impuNr  in   hi,  bosom.     It   would    be'  id!, 

'hat    he  did    not    hojH..  and    1: 
13 


290  VASCONSELOS. 

the  modesty  of  his  character  could  not  be  deceived  on  a  subject 
on  which  the  common  voice  of  society  allowed  no  doubts,  and  he 
was  resolved  to  bring  his  own  doubts,  if  any,  to  a  close,  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  terminate  a  condition  ol  suspense  which  had 
many  vexations.  But,  whether  he  should  address  Olivia  that 
evening  or  not,  was  to  depend  upon  his  reception,  her  health,  and 
other  circumstances  which  need  not  be  mentioned.  Enough, 
that  he  is  at  last  on  his  way  to  her  hacienda. 

He  had  just  entered  upon  the  estate,  and,  with  slow  step,  and 
musing  spirit,  was  penetrating  the  avenue  of  great  trees  which 
led  to  the  dwelling,  when  he  was  startled  from  a  pleasant  reverj. 
by  a  sudden  outcry  from  the  depths  of  the  thicket  on  his  right. 
There  were  clamors,  as  of  threatened  violence;  the  shouts  of  man 
to  man  ;  a  rushing  and  crackling  among  the  shrubs  and  branches 
of  the  wood,  followed  by  a  fierce,  wild,  savage  oath  or  two, 
which  came  very  distinctly  to  his  ears,  and  which  declared  for 
angry  passions  ready  to  do  mischief.  The  sun  had  set.  The  in 
terval  of  twilight  is  brief  in  that  region.  A  sudden  glory  suffuscS* 
the  sky,  as  the  groat  eye  of  day  is  about  to  close  ;  the  glory 
disappears,  a  faint  misty  light  lingers  in  the  sky,  which  gradually 
deepens  into  dusk.  Such  was  the  hour.  The  dusk  was  nearly 
darkness  in  the  wood  ;  and,  for  a  moment,  Don  Philip  could 
see  nothing,  though  he  impulsively  took  a  few  steps  into  the 
thicket  in  order  to  trace  the  secret  of  the  outcry.  He  was  not 
left  long  in  doubt.  Suddenly,  a  gigantic  figure,  that  seemed  to  rise 
from  the  earth  where  he  had  fallen,  bounded  close  beside  him. 
He  was  followed  by  three  others,  who  now  rushed  out  of  the 
wood  and  made  after  the  fugitive,  armed  with  -wonlsand  knives. 
They  were  close  upon  his  heels,  and  he  turned  about  to  confront 
them.  Three  upon  one  !  The  struii.u'le  was  too  unequal.  The 
chivalry  of  Don  Philip  was  aroused  as  he  beheld.  With  the  natu 
ral  impulse  of  a  brave  man,  sympathizing  with  the  weak,  he 
drew  his  sword,  and  threw  himself  in  the  way  of  the  pursuers  j 
the  outlaw,  for  it  was  he.  being  some  twenty  steps  in  advance. 

"  Stand  aside  !"  cried  one  of  the  alguazils,  who  seemed  to  be 
the  leader  : — "  we  are  officers  of  justice." 


mi:  iTKsrrr.  291 

"  I  know  not  that:  "  was  the  answer.  "  Where  is  your  warrant? 
Let  nic  B66  your  authority." 

\,   nun-   for  that    now!    We  are  under  the  authority  of  Don 

Haltha/ar  ilc  Alvaro,  and   these  are   his  grounds.      We   are  to  anv-t 
yonder  outlaw." 

"Ha1  II:i'  II;i'"  was  the  fierce  ehl'ickle  of  tile  outlaw,  who, 
taking  advantage  of  the  diversion  in  his  favor,  had  sheltered  himself 
among  the  trees,  hut  who  did  not  serin  disposed  to  tly  much  farther. 
He  had  obtained  a  momentary  respite,  which,  probably,  was  all  that 

waf  non  necessary  to  his  safety. 

"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!     ft  nd   Don  Baltha/ar  himself  tome,  and  we  shall 

see  who  is  the  outlaw! 

Don  Philip  heard  the  words  distinctly. 

"AVho  is  the  man?"  he  asked. 

•<•<>.  the  outlaw,  the  fugitive,  the  murderer.     Beware,  Sefior, 
how    you    arre<t     the    i.flirnx  of     pi-tiee.  and    help    the    escape   of   the 
criminal'     I   know  you,  Don  Philip  de  Vasconselos;  you  will   havrt.. 
r  for  it  if  you  delay  US." 

"  If  \  on  ki.ow  me,  you  know  than  I  cannot  stand  liy  and  see  three 
men  oppo-ed  to  one.  Show  me  your  authority  for  taking  this  man, 
before  you  pasx  me.  The  penalty  be  upon  my  head  !  " 

It  is  probable  that  the  algua/.ils  would  ha\e  attempted  to  beat  the 
kniiiht  out  of  their  path,  but  kniirlitliood  had  its  />,;*?;>/, .  ,-md  thev 
Well  remembered  the  potent  weapon  of  the  I'ortllil'UeM-.  The  ollicer 
remonstrated. 

••  Y..II  cannot  read  the  paper."  he  said,  "  by  this  liirLt.  But  it  is 
here.  I.et  ii-  pa--,  or  there  will  he  trouble." 

•  them  pa.--.  Sefior,"  died  the  fugitive.  '*  Thej  will  have 
Heeler  lei>  than  SpanNh  Al^ua/il'-  usually  carry,  if  thev  hope  to  over 
take  Mateo;  and  better  skill  and  courage  than  usual,  if  they  conquer 
\\hentheyovertake:  Come  on,  rax-als.  that  I  may  carry  you  with 
me  to  the  devil." 

•  "nlidence  with  which  the  outlaw  spoke  determined  Philip 
to  i.ppi.-e  the  officers  no  farther.  He  probably  saw  that  it 
\\ould  be  prudent  only  to  forbear  a  quarrel  with  the  public 
authorities  knowing,  as  he  did,  how  doubtful  wen  his  own 


292 

lations  \\ith  the  Adel&ntado,  and  how  small   his  popularity  witfc 
the  Spaniards  at  large. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  he  to  the  officers ;  "  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  this  business  !"  and  he  turned  aside,  and  put  up  his 
weapon.  The  alguazils  started  again  in  pursuit.  A  shrill  whis 
tie  <ouuied  from  the  opposite  quarter.  It  was  the  signal  of  the 
other  part)  in  search  of  the  fugitive.  The  outlaw  was  U-i  \\vi-n 
two  squads  of  enemies,  and  he  bounded  away  to  the  e<»vrt.  both 
parties  after  him.  For  several  minutes,  Don  Philip  listened  U 
their  outcries,  as  they  severally  crashed  their  way  into  the 
thickets.  Tie  half  regretted  that  he  had  not  still  farther  delayed 
the  chase  after  the  bold  outlaw.  In  a  little  while  the  sound* 
n-ascd.  "Hi.-  algua/ils  were  at  fault,  bewildered  in  the  wood  ; 
and  the  fugitive  laughed  at  them  securely  in  its  deep  recesses. 
But,  of  this  escape,  Philip  knew  not  at  the  moment.  He  re 
sumed  his  progress  towards  the  dwelling,  his  mood  having  be 
come  somewhat  sterner  by  the  momentary  excitement.  Hardly 
had  he  advanced  a  dozen  steps,  however,  wher  V  encountered 
the  girl,  Juana,  wringing  her  hands,  and  showing  many  signs  of 
terror. 

"Who  is  this?'' 

t;f)li!  Senor  Don  Philip,  how  I  thank  you!  You  have  saved 
my  pr.<>r  brother.  The;  will  give  him  to  the  garote  vil,  if  the) 
take  him;  and  it  is  I  who  have  betrayed  him." 

"  You  !  Are  you  not  the  girl,  Juana,  belonging  to  Don  Baltha 
zar  de  AlvaroT' 

"  Oh !  not  to  him,  but  to  the  poor  young  lady,  the  Sefiorita 
Olivia?" 

"And  he  is  yout  brother?  And  why  do  they  pursue  him  7 
What  has  he  done?" 

"Oh!  nothing  in  the  world,  8efior  j  nothing  in  the  world ;  only 
he  is  too  good  to  do  work  at  the  hacienda.  They  charge  him  with 
murder  and  other  things.  But  it  is  not  true,  II«>  is  the  bot  per 
son  in  the  world.  Senor,  and  the  best  brother,  and  he  killed  the 
great  bull,  El  Moro  ;  and  would  be  as  good  a  Christian  as  Father 
Paul  himself  if  they'd  only  let  him  have  his  own  way." 


Till]    YI>IT    IM.x/rpONED.  293 


Tlit-  knight  smiled  at  the  moderate  conditions  which  were  required 
for  Manteo'.s  Christianity. 

"  Certainly,  Juana,  they  are  very  unreasonable  with  your  bro 
ther." 

11  Oh!  1  knew  you'd  think  so,  Sefior.     He  is  only  too  good  for  the 
like  of  them.     He  is  the  ln-<t  brother  in  all  Cuba." 

'•  Well.  you   are  a  good  girl  for  believing  tlius  of  your  brother.  — 
But  how  is  your  lady—  how  is  the  Senorita  de  Alvaro?     I  was  just 
g  to  visit  Ii- 

"Ah:  "said  the  girl  quickly  —  "But  you  can't  see  her  thi- 
ing.  She  is  nut  well,  and  she  bade  me  leave  her,  and  that's  Un 
reason  that  you  see  me  here.  I  stole  otY.  as  the  S.-norita  retired 
—only  U)  BO  and  talk  with  Mateo,  and  the  algua/ils—  may  the 
Devils  burn  them  in  pitch  and  sulphur:—  they  followed  after  me 
and  I  led  them  to  the  very  place  where  lie  was  sleeping.  Oh!  they 
had  BO  nearly  cauirht  him;  and  if  they  had.  and  they  had  put  him 
I"  the-  I  would  have  drowned  myself  in  the  sea.  forever  and 

fon\ 

The   visit    of    Philip   de    V.-^.-.-n-i-los  was  arrested  by  the  intelli 

gence    which    Juana    gave    him    of   her    lady;  but    the  girl  d> 

him.     Oli\ia    had    not    retired:    and    we    may    add    that    she    really 

d  the  cavalier.     She   had    been    taught    to   look    for  him  by 

mil.  .us    assurances   of    Leonora    de   Tobar.  who  had  gathered 

from    her   husband's   report    that    Don    Philip   would    surely    come 

that   night.     And.  but    for  this  interruption,  how   might  the  events 

of  this   truthful    history    have    been    altered  '—whether    for   good   or 

evil    we    do    not     pn-tend    t<>    Mjr,     Hut    altered    they   must    have 

In-en.      Don    Philip    might    have    made    the   visit   in  vain;   In 

have   Ix-cn   denied;    probably  would    have    hem;    though    it    is   diffl. 

cult  to  s'tv.      The    task    of   denial    would    have   been    a    hard  one  to 

r  damsel.  l,,ving    him    U    she    did;    and   reluctant    BStheWM 

>.v   nay   to    the  pleadings  of  her  own    p 

I  than  his.  she  had  divx,,-«l  her^lf  f,,r  Philip—she  had 
l"en  M.licitous  of  ch.-mns  wlncli.  perhaps,  needed  little  help  from 
art  or  ornament  for  con.  n:<  ,  !„•  had  adorned  herself  richly 

with   her   jeueU;      Would    ifcfl   luivi:    had    the  firmness—  the  virtue 


294  VASCONSELOS. 

— to  refuse  the  prayer  of  one  whom  she  was  yet  so  anxious  to 
please  ?  It  is  probable  that  Don  Balthazar  knew  her  weaknesses 
better  than  she  did  herself.  At  all  events,  the  lie  of  the  girl, 
Juana,  told  with  no  malignant  purpose,  but  simply  to  prevent  the 
discovery  of  her  unlicensed  absence  by  her  mistress,  changed, 
very  completely,  the  whole  current  of  our  history — changed  the 
fortunes  of  Don  Philip,  no  less  than  those  of  the  lady  of  his 
love.  Not  that  he  did  not  again  seek  her — but  this  must  bo  a 
matter  for  future  revelation.  Philip  de  Vasconselos  turned  away 
from  Juana,  and  from  the  hacienda,  and  with  a  parting  word  of 
kindness  to  the  girl,  slowly  took  his  route  back  to  his  lonely 
lodgings. 

"  Praise  the  Holy  Virgin  that  he  is  gone !  and  the  Saints  be  all 
praised  because  he  came.  If  he  had  not  come  between  these 
cursed  alguazils,  they  would  have  been,  all  of  them,  upon  poor 
Mateo.  They  can  hardly  take  him  now,  it  is  so  dark,  and  he 
<nows  the  thickets  so  well.  He  will  escape.  He  is  safe.  I 
lon't  hear  them  now.  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  that  the  good  knight  of 
Portugal  came!  And  Matco  wanted  to  kill  him,  and  all  to 
please  that  great  cayman,  my  master.  But  he  shan't  touch  him 
now.  If  he's  to  kill  anybody,  I  know  who  it  shall  be.  It  shan't 
be  the  good  Don  Philip,  I  know.  He  is  a  good  knight.  I  love 
him.  And  my  fady  loves  him  too,  better  than  all  things  in  this 
world.  But  if  he  knew !  If  he  only  knew  what  I  know  !  But 
he  shall  never  know  for  me  !  And  if  he  marries  her  I  sha  1  be 
BO  glad." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

'  Now  help  ye  charming  upell*  and  penapU. 
And  ye  choice  spirits  that  udmonisli  m«-( 
And  give  me  ugn*  of  future  accident*." 


DAY  passed,  night  came  and  went,  with  all  her  train  of  thought 
fill  stars,  and  the  hours  grew  more  and  more  sad  to  Olivia  de 
A Ivaro,  in  the  solitude  of  her  chamber.  The  sense  of  pain  and 
apprehension  increased  to  absolute  terror,  as  it  b.vam 
tain  that  she  was  not  to  see  Don  Philip  that  night.  She  sate  be 
side  the  verandah  In-low  stairs  till  a  very  late  hour;  and  ()!  the 
hopeleamew  and  woe  of  that  sick  sutlcring  soul,  left  to  it>  own 
miserable  musings, ami  StruggHngagainsI  itsown  terribleconsi  ions 
Vouth  ha-  wonderful  resources  against  every  evil  but  the 
sen-e  of  shame.  Beauty  maintains  a  glorious  elasticity  in  its  ,.\vr; 
168  of  hope,  provided  you  do  not  crush  it  with  a  doubt  of  its 
own  purity.  Hut  if  this  doubt  be  present,  it  hangs  above  the 
heart  with  all  the  threatening  terrors  of  the  thunder-cloud.  You 
dare  not  trust  the  sunshine.  You  cannot  confide  to  the  bree/e. 
The  whi>|>ers  of  the  grove  seem  to  repeat  the  secret  of  your 
fears.  The  stars  seem  mournful  witnes-,,^  against  vou.  and  sou 
dread  le-t  the  fierce  glances  of  the  noonday  sun  will  suddenly 
penetrate  your  privnii-hou-e.  and  lay  bare  to  the  world  IN  dread 
ful  myst'-ries.  Shame  is  a  haunting  spectre  that  will  down  at  n- 
maif>  bidding.  It  is  thus  terrible  to  man;  but  to  woman. 
yoiniL'.  beautiful,  pure  in  spirit,  and  hopeful  still,  in  the  ^<^ 

roils  pa— ions  and  loving  sympathies.  ]t  j^  t],(.  (],.mon  that 
implies  all  horrors^  |,;l-t  and  future;   that  mars  all  felicity 
voice  of  doom,  and  threatens  every  breath   of  hop.-   and 
with  the  tortures  of  eternal  sorrow.     The  soul  thus  haunt 
not  well  be  said  to  live.     It  onj<  .y s  n«  .thing.     It  distrusts  all  plea* 


VASCONSKLOS. 

friendships,  loves,  associations.  The  eyes  that  look  upon 
*  ,em  spies,  the  voices  that  address  it  seem  accusers.  The  very 
^ssions  and  sympathies,  thus  overshadowed,  grow  to  scorpions, 
•ha*  fasten  upon  the  being  in  whose  heart  they  harbor.  To 
USfiOrP.^e  the  sorrows  of  such  a  being,  in  detail,  would  be  impos 
sible.  Tills  would  be  to  analyze  every  emotion,  thought,  fancy  ; 
and  to  discern  the  self-suggested  doubt  and  apprehension  which 
the  mind  continually  conjures  up  for  its  own  agony.  If,  from 
?-jch  a  knowledge  of  her  situation  as  we  have  been  enabled  to  give, 
*he  reader  cannot  conceive  of  the  miserable  melancholy  of  Oliv 
ia's  mood,  nothing  now  may  be  said  more  fully  to  enlighten  him. 
There  are  some  agencies  which  are  indescribable;  beyond  which 
we  may  not  go — beyond  which  we  may  not  see — over  which  the 
curtain  drops  of  itself,  and  which  we  thence  only  venture  to  con 
template  through  means  of  conjectures,  which  still,  for  the  sake 
of  humanity,  imply  uncertainty.  We  give  to  the  sufferer  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt,  and  in  some  degree  feel  a  relief  from  having 
done  so.  It  is  a  relief  not  to  believe  too  much.  We  prefer  to 
suppose  that  the  victim  has  some  alternative  "  <)  which  to  escape 
from  a  situation  the  agonies  of  which  are  'co  exquisite  for  en 
durance. 

How,  ir  svhat  gloomy  wakefulness,  and  torturing  thought, 
Olivia  passed  the  night,  we  shall  not  pretend  to  describe.  Nature 
it  last,  in  her  utter  exhaustion,  compelled  thought  to  silence.  She 
slept,  but  not  till  a  very  late  hour.  It  was  midnight  when  Don 
dolUiazar  readied  home.  She  heard  him  enter  the  house,  and 
iin n u •<  1  lately  proc?  3dcJ  to  assure  herself  that  her  door  was  fa&- 
t^iied.  The  secret  door  leading  to  her  chamber,  of  which  she  only 
inertly  had  knowledge,  she  also  contrived  to  provide  against  by 
a  heavy  piece  of  furniture,  which  promised  to  render  it  unavail 
able  to  the  intruder.  This  done,  the  eyes  of  the  dam«el  grew 
weary,  and  after  a  sobbing  prayer,  she  soon  sank  to  slumber.  She 
slept  late  the  next  day,  and  was  awakened  by  .Tuana  tapping  at 
the  entrance.  Don  Balthazar  had  already  departed  f<>r  the  city, 
and  Olivia  felt  relieved  at  the  intelligence.  She  took  a  light 
breakfast  but  was  oppressed  by  heaviness  after  it.  Her  evet 


JUANA'S   REVELATION'S.  297 

rlrooped,  and  her  <pirits.     She  looked  about  her,  made  efforts  to 
shake  oil"  the  feeling,  which  slie  ascribed  to  her  previous  wakeful- 

i:ul  bu-tlcd  accordingly  abo:;t  her  chamber.  Hut  the  feel- 
ing  iner-a-ed.  She  remarked  with  surprise  that  the  beaufet,  in 
whieh  she  kept  certain  little  delicaeirs.sweetm  i.  bon-bons, 

«r  trifles  of  like  >ort,  was  unia-tciied       She   had    - 

IK:  believed,  the  night  In-fore,  and  as  shr  had  always    been 
tul  to  do  so,  she    wa<   annoyed    by    the    eiieum- 
s^anee.     It  flashed  across  her  mind  that  someone  mu>t  have  visited 
lier  ehamber  while  >he  slept.      Hut  it  was  evident  that  th«- 

..ul«l  not  be  pi-n»-trat»'«l  from  without,  fastened  a- it  was  by  a 
massive  piece  "f  furniture,  and  the  ordinary  entrance-  had  not 
been  disturbed.  She  was  compelled  to  dismi-s  the  suspicion, 
which,  muld  -he  hav  Ined,  might  have  led  her  to  another 

•>f  aeeoiintin_j  for  lu-r  d:  .      This   increased    as    the 

day  proeeed(-d.      She  wa<.  however.  «>mewhat  kept  alive  bv  the 
unwonted    fr«  -dom    of  .luana's   communications.      Hither- 
had  kept  the  u'i'I  at  a  distance;   holding  her  to  be  an  object  of  as 
much  -uspieion  a-  her  mother,  Anita.     But  of  late,  and  -ince  the 
advent  of  the  hateful  Sylvia.  Juann  had  been  mo:  i  m  her 

'eitous  to  serve  her.  and  had  shown  her 
sympathy  on  several  occasion-:,  when  sympathy    from    the    hnm- 

gp^eful  to  the  torii  and  suffering 

heart  of  the  unhappy  damsel.     .Jnaiia's  own   heart    was    too    fuli 

wow.  any  l..nurer  to  keep  the  BOCrel  of  her  brotlu-r.      She  told  the 

.   of  his  presence   in  Havana,   his    discovery,    the    }>ur 

•d  by  \\\'  .f  the  law.  at    the   i 

'.iltha/ar.  and  his  lucky  6  Hut  she  said,  not  a  syllable 

of  the  interposition  of'  Don    Philip   de    \  log.      Her   eon. 

i:.iu:ications  ,li,l  not  re-t  here.      She   told  most  of  the  particulars 
of  the  inidni-r-U  OOntl  Doc   l.altha/ar  an«l  th 

!e   of  free 
M«.m  for  hiniM-i!'  .    and    the    iViire    management 

criminal  con.lition  by  which  the  outlaw 

'  '  •  lied,    the    stream    of  rev 

elation  wits  Miib'-.-ken  until  the  whole  foiiMt.-iiu  was  omoti»J      Hut 


293  VASCONSELOS. 

.here  was  another  reservation  which  the  girl  made.  She  did  not 
say  who  was  the  victim  whom  the  hate  of  Don  Balthazar  required 
the  outlaw  to  assassinate.  In  reply  to  the  eager  and  apprehensive 
inquiry  of  Olivia,  she  professed  not  to  know.  But  Olivia  knew. 
Her  instincts  readily  divined  the  secret,  as  she,  better  than  any 
body  else,  knew  well  what  were  her  uncle's  necessities  and  danger, 
and  how  naturally  he  regarded  Philip  de  Vasconselos  as  his  worst 
enemy. 

"  Holy  Maria !"  murmured  the  poor  girl  to  herself:  "Will 
he  murder  him  because  he  hath  destroyed  his  hope  as  well  as 
mine  !  Oh  !  surely,  I  must  do  something  here  !" 

Then  aloud,  to  Juana,  she  said — 

"  But  your  brother  will  never  do  this  horrid  deed,  Juana  ?" 

"No!  no!  Senorita;  not  now,  I'm  thinking.  Tie  might  have 
done  it  yesterday,  perhaps ;  but  now.  when  lie  finds  that  Don 
Baltha/ar  keeps  no  faith  with  hiiri,  and  puts  the  alguazils  at  his 
baek,  just  as  he  has  made  a  solemn  bargain  with  him  before  the 
angels, — Mateo  will  never  trust  him,  or  work  for  him  in  any 
way." 

"  Hear  me,  Juana!  I  will  give  Mateo  and  yourself  freedom. 
It  is  to  me  you  belong " 

"  Yes,  Senorita,  to  be  sure ;  but  you  are  not  of  age  ^et,  you 
know,  and  your  uncle  is  your  guardian  till  then  ;  and  he " 

"  I  know  all  that,  Juana;  but  do  you  and  your  brother  serve 
me.  faithfully — do  all  that  I  shall  require  in  the  meantime,  and  I* 
will  provide  that  you  shall  both  have  your  freedom  as  soon  as  I 
am  of  legal  age.  Meanwhile,  1  will  see  the  Lady  Isabella,  who 
is  very  kind  to  me,  and  through  ho)1  1  will  get  Mateo's  pardon 
for  the  erimes  of  which  he,  has  been  guilty." 

"  Oh  !  will  you,  dear  Senorita,  my  most  dear  Senorita?  But 
what  do  you  want  us  to  do?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  hereafter.     At  present  I  hardly  know  myself. 
I  must  think.     I  see  that  there  is  something  to  be  done,  but  now, 
I  scarcely  know  what,     My  head   feels  very  e<»nt'u-ed,  and  I  am 
so  drowsy.     I  slept  but  little  last  night.      I  shall  think  of  every 
thing  during  the  day.     Meanwhile,  do  you  contrive  to  see  your 


A  (JTOTHJEB    1:1 l>    W)B    M  LTEO, 

brother,    and    tell    him    what     I    have    said.       Tell     him,    above    all 
things,  not  to  lift  hand  or  weapon  airainst  Don  Philip — 

••  IJut  I  didn't  say  'twas  Don   Philip.  Senorita." 

•  N  .  :•:•:•••  rl  I  know!  It  can  be  no  other.  If  he  hurts  one 
hair  of  Don  Philip's  head.  I  will  have  him  hunted  up  in  the 
mountains  by  all  the  troops  of  the  Adelantado.  ;md  I  will  never 
sleep  till  they  brini?  him  to  th-  Now,  warn  him. 

Lei    him  l>e   faithful   to  me.  and    I    will    make    you   both    free. 
him    soon.       Go    now.       Hasten!       Find    him.       Do    not  .rest    till 
you   tell    him   all.     But  whisper  not  a  word  of   this   to  any  other 
living  >oul." 

Juana  did  not  need  a  second  command  to  depart  in  search  of 
her  brother.  Her  absence  was  noted  by  Sylvia,  who  was  furious 
at  the  escape  of  Mateo  from  the  aliiua/.ils.  She  was  soon  upon 
the  track  of  the  ser\  in- --irirl.  who-e  -uperior  ability,  however,  ena 
bled  her  finally  to  elude  the  pursuit  of  the  old  woman.  Meanwhile, 
Olivia  had  a  vi-itor  in  the  i:ay  youn.ur  wife  of  Nuno  dc  Tohar. 
who  found  her  sinkin.ir  b.-tck  into  that  Male  of  languor  and  apathy 
from  which  the  communication  of  Juana  had  momentarily  arou-ed 
her.  Her  ener^ie^  had  ri-en.  with  the  temporary  excitement, 
to  Mibside  as  suddenly;  and  the  lively  prattle  of  Leonora  Deemed 
to  be  wasted  entirely  upon  the  ears  to  \\hich  it  wa>  addre— « d. 
The  -ax  youiiLT  woman  came  in  with  a  bound,  full  of  anticipations 
in  re-peet  to  her  youn;j.-  h<  t 

'•  Well,  my  child."  said  -he,  "  it  i  !.  [  guppot 

"  What  i-  >ettled.   Leon. 

•'  Why.  that  you  are  to  lie  the  bride  of  Don  Philip." 

'      h    i-   Billed   only  that  I   am   /,»/    to   be   the    bride  ot    D..n 
Philip'  "  \\a-  the  suil  reply. 

••What1       Olivia,    you    ha\e    not    been    s.,     fooli-li    a>    to 
him?      You  who  really  love  hi:i 

•  He  ha-  not  -iveii  me  the  opportunity .   ! 

Ib.U  '        l.Ul    he    ha-    been    ! 

•U  it  pOMfbtel  Well,  that  i-  \erv  -iran-e1  I  -ot  from  Nuno 
thai  he  \\a-  min.li/  1 .  . 


SOO  VASCONSELOS. 

"He  did  not  come!"  was  the  answer,  in  sad  tones. 

"That  is  certainly  very  curious.  lie  told  Nuno  that  he  would 
visit  you  in  the  evening.  That  was  yesterday  morning.  Nuno 
spent  the  morning  with  him,  and  said  he  wiis  in  the  greate.sj 
spirits ;  that  he  du.  nothing  but  talk  of  you,  and  of  your  beauty 
and  sweetness,  and  graee  and  innoeenee  !" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Olivia,  with  a  sudden  flushing  of  tne  cheek, 
while  she  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  side  as  if  in  pain. 

"  What  \3  the  matter  ]    Are  you  sick  ?" 

"  A  sudden  pain  !" 

"•  You  have  these  sudden  pains  too  frequently.  You  keep  too 
much  at  home.  Home  always  fills  me  with  pains.  It  don't 
agree  with  the  health  of  any  young  woman  not  to  go  frequent  ly 
abroad,  where  she  can  sec  and  be  seen.  That's  what  1  tell  Xnno 
when  he  wants  to  quarrel  with  me  for  going  out  so  much. 
Though,  in  truth,  I  do  not  go  out  so  very  often.  I  visit  nobody 
but  you,  and  the  Lady  Isabella,  and  Donna  Vicente  de  Ladrone, 
and  the  Senoritas  Guzman,  and  dear  little  Maria  de  Lcvoine, 
and  Theresa  Moreno,  and  a  few  others.  But  I  tell  Nuno  that  it 
is  not  for  the  love  of  it  that  I  visit. ;  it  is  only  for  my  health.  I 
should  have  just  those  sort  of  pains  that  trouble  you,  if  I  did  not 
show  myself  everywhere  every  day;  and  I  tell  Nui-o  I  am  not 
going  to  make  myself  sick  by  minding  what  he  says.  Oh  !  he's 
like  all  other  men.  and  would  be  nothing  le>s  than  a  tyrant  if 
IM  let  him.  And  do  you  be  warned  in  time.  When  you  marry 
Don  Philip  take  your  position  firmly  at  the  out-et  ;  and  SdUte 
the  first  opportunity  of  putting  your  foot  down  so — and  saying, 
"Twont  do,  Don  Philip  !  You  are  quite  mistaken  in  your  wo 
man.  1  am  my  own  mi-ire-^.  Don  Philip,  and  if  y«m  wciv  a 
..-•nth-man,  and  a  gallant,  1  should  be  yours  also!'  That's 
\\hat  \ou  muM.  >a\  an- 1  do.  Olivia,  if  you'd  be  a  five-  woman 
and  a  ruling,  happ\  wife.  It's  the  only  way!" 

And  *hr.  stamped  \vry  prettily,  with  a  properly  graceful  eni- 
.  with  h«T  pretty  little  1.  ft  tl-ot.aiid  tos>ed  her  tresses  with 
the  air  of  a  sullana.  But  Olivia  only  smiled  sadly  in  reply,  and 
shook  her  head. 


1IUW    Tn    MAKi:     \N     UFFEK.  llul 

"Oh!  don't  shake  y«>ur  head  M  pathetically.  Ymi  an-  troub 
led  with  the  blues  only,  and  \\ill  PBCOVei  as  soon  a-  Don  Philip 
c-i.iuo  -inging— '  Will  you,  will  you— won't  you,  Olivia?'  And 
he  will  <  Mire  you.  I  only  wonder,  after  what  h«-  .-aid 

rday,    that    In-    was    not    hen-    last    evening.      He    will   be    - 
to    conic    this,   so    take    care    and  ur    toilet.      Put   on  your 

be-t  smiles,  and  be  sure  to  wear  your  pearK  they  an-  to  becom 
ing  to  you.  oh:  when  h.  <  Florida  he  will  send  you 
bushels  of  them.  Nuno  promises  me  any  quantity;  and  what 
do  you  think.  Olive?  he  tell-  me  that,  in  that  country,  the  Apa- 
latchies  rai-e  them  from  the  seed.  Think  of  that.  I  can  hardly 
Ix'lieve  him.  Only  think  of  planting  your  garden  with  seed- 
pearl,  and  raising  them  in  any  quantity  and  si/e.  He  -ays  that 
they  can  be  grown  larger  than  the  largest  fowl  egi;.  only  by 
manuring  them  with  star-dust.  Hut  what  i->  slar-du-t?  He 
wouldn't  tell  }\\r  that.  Only  said  there  ww  a  plenty  of  it  b 
had  in  every  country,  and  more  in  Cuba  than  any  other." 

:!  this  Olivia  had  to  smile  only,  hut   in   such   a  sort    did  she 
smile,  that  even  the  lively  visitor  was  somewhat  chilled  by  it." 

"Oh  do!"    -aid    she,    "Olivia,    shaki-    oil'    the-r    gloomy    tit<.       I 
tell  you  he  '/•///  c,.me,  and  will  he  at  your  feet   within  twenty-four 
hours;    and    you    will    pout,    and    hesitate,     and    tremble    and    say 
nothing.     Then    he    will    take   your  hand   and   he    will    carry    it    to 
hi-    lips,    and    you    will    tremble    more    than    ever;     but    you    will 
never  think    to  draw  your  hand    away,    which  N  a  thin:: 
done    that    it    does    not    -eeiu    worth    while    to   do    it;    and    then    he 
will    HM-   and   seat   him-elf  be-ide  you    on    the    Mtt66,  and  with 
hand    holding   yours    he  will    put    the    other  about  your  waist,  and 
suddenly   he   will    mi-take    your    mouth    for    the    hand    he  ha-  IM-CH 
ki  — in-,   ami   he   \\ill   ki—   that;    and    after    he  has  gone  So 
will    -er    th;it    there    i-    M    -•  ii - •    in     refu-iiig    him    the    u-r    ot    tin- 
thin::-  that  he  kiio\\-  |Q  \\dl  what  to  d<»  \\ith." 

I  )o    noi    -p»  ak    ot'   it.       I    do   not    think    that 
I>MII    Philip    cares    for    me.    ;md     I     a.s-uiv    you    \se    -hall 
man 

I     knou  •     g     mustn't     ivfuae    Don     J'hii 


302  VASCONSKLOS. 

any  account.  He  will  take  you  out  of  the  custody  of  your  uu- 
cle,  who  is  only  a  sort  of  great  Moorish  bull,  such  as  fought  the 
other  Jay  in  the  ring;  and  a  monstrous  pretty  fight  he  made, 
indeed  !  If  I  could  see  Don  Balthazar  fighting  in  the  same  man 
ner,  till  he  was  killed,  and  dead  outright,  and  lying  sprawling  in 
red  blood,  and  with  his  neck  and  shoulder  stuck  full  of  bandcrillas, 
[  think  I  should  like  him  a  great  deal  better.  But  now  I  don't 
like  him  at  all.  Here  he  keeps  you  no  better  than  a  prisoner. 
In  fact,  Olivia,  1  half  suspect  he  likes  you  better,  as  a  woman, 
than  as  a  niece,  and  would  rather  not  see  you  married  to  any 
body." 

Olivia  started  at  this  random  shaft, ;  rose  from  the  setter ;  and 
with  staring  eye  and  flushed  cheek,  gazed  her  answer ;  vague, 
wild,  utterly  unmeaning,  as  it  seemed,  to  the  remark  of  Leonora. 

"  What !  dear  child,  another  of  those  cruel  pains  ?  I  must 
*end  you  some  famous  drops  I  have.  Sit  down  again !  Lie  down, 
Olive,  dear.  1  can  speak  to  you  just  as  well  when  you  lie  as 
when  you  sit.  There,  rest  yourself  for  awhile.  Poor,  dear 
creature,  how  your  check  pales  and  flushes,  in  an  instant,  and 
what  an  odd  look  you  have  in  your  eyes !  You  must  take  some 
of  my  drops,  and  take  more  exercise,  and  take  advice,  Olive,  and 
what's  more  and  better,  take  Don  Philip.  Oh  !  he  will  cure  you 
of  all  these  infirmities.  That's  the  good  of  a  husband  !  Now 
don't  be  looking  so  woeful  and  low-spirited.  Positively,  there 
are  big  tears  in  your  eyes  !  What  have  I  been  saying  to  make 
you  so  sad?  I'm  sure  I  meant  to  1m  very  lively  and  very  good- 
natured,  and  to  tell  you  only  sua  things  as  would  please  you. 
By  the  way,  something  odd  of  your  Don  Philip.  You  must 
know  that  hi-  has  the  most  eccentric  tastes  in  the  world.  What 
do  you  think  ?  lie  gave  Xuno  ;;  commission  to  buy  him  a  negro 
boy,  a  sort  of  lacquey,  tiiteen  or  sixteen — a  lad  to  go  on  nu-s- 
ttges,  and  polish  his  armor,  and  help  lace  him  in  it,  and  perhapf 
Jress  his  hair — who  knows  what  sort  of  duties  the  page  of  a 
yomm  gallant  lia-  to  perform  ?  Well,  Nuno,  who  knows  every 
body,  busies  himself  to  procure  this  lad  for  him,  and  sends  him 
half  a  hundred,  more  or  less,  of  the  best  black  boys>  for  such  a 


A    REFINED    TASTE.  303 

purpose,  in  all  Havana.     And   none   pleases  our  excellent  Don 

Philip.     lie  has  a  taste,  would  you  believe  it,  even  in  the  choice 

of  a  negro.      He  requires  the  boy  to  be  graceful   and  good-look- 

if  -uch  a  thing  was  to  be  found  !     lie  must  needs  have  a 

ver  such  an  absurdity  !    Such  a  whim  ! 

So  ridiculous  !  To  one,  he  object  <  because  he  is  bowlegged  ;  to 
another,  beeause  he  squints  ;  to  a  third,  because  his  forel; 
back  of  his  ears ;  to  a  fourth,  beeause  his  mouth  is  like  a  cavern,  as 
hu^e  as  that  of  C'ovandoiiga.  and  forever  open.  He  says  that  sleep 
ing  some  night  in  Florida,  a  cayman  will  go  down  his  throat, 
and  he  shall  lose  his  negro  and  his  money.  And  thus,  positively, 
he  has  refused  e\vry  nogro  that  has  been  brought  him.  What's 
to  be  done  with  such  a  man  ?  But  I  tell  Nuno,  these  are  only 
his  humors,  because  he's  unsettled.  He's  not  thinking  of  the 
negro  at  all ;  only  of  you,  Olivia— only  of  you!  Now,  for  my 
part,  as  I  told  Nuno,  I  don't  wish  a  good-looking  negro  about 
me.  The  idea  of  a  handsome  negro  is  unreasonable  and  unnatu 
ral.  The  uglier  the  better.  Beauty  and  good  looks  would  bo 
•  •nth-fly  out  of  place  in  such  an  animal." 

We  despair  fully  of  success,  in  the  endeavor  to  keep  pace,  as 
a  reporter,  with  the  tongue  of  the  lively  Leonora.  Enough  that,  af 
ter  a  certain  period,  its  exertion-  \\viv  relaxed.  Even  she  h 
tired  finally  of  the  fruitless  ellort  to  provoke  interest  or  curiosi 
ty  in  what  -he  -aM.  in  a  mind  so  utterly  absorbed,  a  <pirit  so 
utterly  subdued  and  sad,  as  that  of  Olivia.  The  latter  drooped, 
ai'd  became  more  and  more  apathetic  in  proportion  to  the  efforts 
<>f  Leonora  to  arouse  her  ;  and.  giving  up  the  task,  in  no  sati-fied 
humor,  she  at  length  took  her  departure,  with  a  promise  to  re 
turn  as  soon  as  *he  e«»uM  hear  that  Don  Philip  had  made  his 
vi-it. 

Olivia  yielded  to  her  apathy  as  soon  us  her  companion  had 
gone.  tO  absolute  drowsiness,  in  spite  of  sundry  etlorts 

which   -he  made  to  arou<e  h.-r-eif ;    which   she  -lid    the  rather   to 
shake  elf  a  feeling  frfa  ;    her.  than  with    any  n» 

for  doing  th  things  about  the  house  which  she  undertook. 

But,  as  tb>}  hour  for  the  tittta  drew  nigh,  she  yielded  to  the  subtle 


804  VASCONSELOS. 

influence  which  possessed  her,  and  which  she  persuaded  herself 
was  due  to  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  the  absence  of  the  freshening 
breezes  of  the  sea.  She  had  disposed  herself  on  the  settee  as  for 
sleep,  when  Juana  reappeared,  much  flurried  and  exhausted. 
She  had  failed  to  find  her  brother,  after  a  long  and  very  fatigu 
ing  search  in  all  the  well-known  places.  It  was  probable,  so 
Juana  thought,  that  the  late  pursuit  of  the  alguazils  had  driven 
Mateo  from  the  estate.  We,  however,  knew  better.  He  had 
simply  found  it  necessary  to  shift  his  quarters,  and  to  exercise  a 
little  more  caution.  He  may  have  temporarily  left  the  grounds, 
but  he  did  not  abandon  them.  In  truth,  to  state  a  fact  which 
poor  Juana  did  not  conjecture,  he  found  it  necessary  for  lus  own 
safety  to  elude  her  search.  She  it  was,  who,  with  a  foolish  fond 
ness,  had  brought  old  Sylvia  and  the  alguazils  upon  his  track.  lie 
kept  from  her  sight,  and  changed  his  ground  at  her  approach. 
The  girl  was  very  much  troubled  by  the  failure  of  her  seaivh. 
Olivia  might  have  felt  and  shown  quite  as  much  concern  on  hear 
ing  her  report,  but  for  tlve  torpor  that  had  now  seized  upon  her 
faculties.  She  repeated  her  commands  to  Juana  to  find  her 
brother,  and  arrest  his  knife,  in  so  many  murmurs. 

"  It  is  very  warm  and  oppressive,  Juana.  We  shall  have  a 
thunder-storm.  I  am  very  drowsy." 

Juana  shook  her  head.  She  ascribed  her  mistress's  drowsiness 
to  a  very  different  cause.  She  had  enjoyed  some  of  the  experience 
of  old  Anita,  and  she  muttered  to  herself — "  She  has  had  the 
spice  !"  Aloud,  she  said, — 

"  It  is  warm,  Senorita,  and  close,  but  I  don't  think  there  will 
be  any  thunder-storm.  In  a  little  while  the  sea-breeze  will  wake 
up,  and  you  will  feel  better,  perhaps." 

"  I  will  go  to  the  summer-house,  Juana,  and  take  my  siesta,  if 
you  think  there  will  be  no  thunder-storm.  Carry  my  dress  for 
the  evening  over  there,  and  my  jewel-case.  I  will  make  my  toilet 
there.  We  need  apprehend  no  visitors  now  until  evening,  1  think, 
ind  you  need  not  disturb  me  until  the  proper  time  to  dr> 

She  gave  other  directions — had  some  oraiiin-s,  now  in  their 
prime,  carrtdd  to  the  summer-Koine,  and  with  languid  linibi 


THE   SUMMER   HOUSE.  305 

went  thither,  after  awhile,  herself;  her   whole  appearance  being 
that  •  f  one  nut  only  indifferent,  hut  insensible  to  external  things. 
The  summer-house  was  a  retreat  happily  conceived  for  a  cli 
mate  like  that  of  Cuba.     It  held  a  neatly  furnished,  airy  apart 
ment,  surrounded  by  a  colonnade  which  eilectually  excluded  the 
sunlight  from  its  floors.     It  was  surrounded  by  ample  thickets, 
which  added  to  the  >hade,  and  seemed  to  give  security.     It  was  a 
f  solitude,  the  chosen  retreat  of  contemplation.     Here  silence 
had  full  empire.      A  happy  siicee^j,  >i\  of  small  courts  and  avenues 
through  the  thickets,  opening  in  all  directions,  gave  free  admission 
to  the  bive/.e.     These  avenues  ran  through  long  tracts  of  the  palm, 
the  orange,  the  grenadilla,  and  the  anana.     Their  several  fruits, 
more  or  less  ripe,  hung  lusciously  in  sight,  in  close  proximity,  and 
dr.  .oping  to  the    hand.     On    each   side,  the    passages  were  cut 
through  x'cming  walls  of  thicket,  affording  arched  walks  of  the 
im>-t  noble  natural  Gothic.     These  all  conducted  to  the  one  centre, 
in  the  light  and  airy  octagon  cot  to  which  Olivia  had  retired.    This 
•y  slight,  a  mere  framework  of  wood;  the  columns 
around   it   being  more  solid  than  the  structure;  and  at  a  glance 
seemed  to  be  constructed   literally  of  palm,  bamboos,  and  other 
flexible  and  tenacious  shrub  trees,  peculiar  to  that  region  ;   which, 
lopt  from  their  roots,  will  sometimes    bud   and  bh»SMnn,  like  the 
miraculoii^  rod  of  the  prophet.      The    bamboos  were  artfully  in 
terwoven,  and  roofed  with  the  thick  leaves  of  palm,  and  plantain, 
and  fig.     Thr-e  were  all  so  many  plates  and  shields,  green,  broad 
and  with  url'>-\v  velvet  coating  that    might    etleetually  batlle    tin- 
tier,  of  the  sun.  even  if  there  were  no  loftier   shadows 
from  great  trees,  that  stretched  their  broad  and  ma-sive  bough>  be 
tweeii.      Art  had  done  its  be-^t.  within  the  cottage,  to  emulate  the 
handiwork  of  nature  without.     There  was  no   lack   of  the  n<      - 
.   supply  of  curtains  and   cushions     The  former  .In -oped  it 
^ieen  or  blue  before  the   several    openings  of  the  cottage,  \\hick 
was,  in   fact,  only  a  group  of  verandahs,   placed   in   parallelism, 
shutting  out  the  light,  but  readily  vie!. ling  to  the  i •:  -f  the 
oreeze.      Upon  one  of  the   piles  of  cu>hions  Olivia  sunk   down, 
taking  naturally  an  attitude  of  grace,  and  exhibiting  an  outline 


306  VASCONSKLOS. 

exquisitely  rounded,  such  as  frequently  distinguishes  the  figure  of 
the  woman  trained  in  a  life  of  luxurious  ease,  and  in  that  deli 
cious  climate.  She  seems,  at  once,  to  sleep.  Her  eyes  close. 
Her  sense  is  steeped  in  oblivion.  She  dreams,  yet  she  does  n  yt 
sleep.  She  feels,  but  she  is  not  conscious.  Her  blood  stagnates 
in  her  veins ;  yet  it  works  potently  in  her  brain.  She  is  in  a 
morbid  and  unnatural  condition.  She  is  under  the  influence  of 
"periapts" — spells,  which  steep  the  sense  in  oblivion — hi  un 
consciousness  of  evil, — making  the  victim  deaf  to  the  very  thun 
ders  that  roll  above  his  head,  and  blind  to  the  forms  of  terror 
or  of  danger,  that  flit  before  his  eye.  She  has  partaken  of  u  the 
insane  root  that  takes  the  reason  prisoner."  The  potent  medi- 
cine  which  now  seals  up  her  consciousness  was  one  «jf  the  se 
crets  of  her  fearful  uncle.  She  has  suspected  him  ; — she  has, — 
as  we  have  already  seen,  endeavored  to  evade  his  arts  ;  but  they 
have  been  too  much  for  her.  She  little  dreams  that  he  possesses 
avenues  to  all  her  hiding-places,  keys  of  power  to  persuade  to 
yielding,  every  lock  and  bolt  which  she  deems  secure.  At  the 
very  moment  when  she  fancied  herself  most  safe,  and  was  begin 
ning  to  exult  in  the  conviction  that  she  could  baffle  and  defy  his 
arts,  her  strength  failed  her — her  powers  all  frozen  by  his  terrible 
spells.  Late  that  day  he  reached  home  and  asked  for  Olivia.  1  Ic 
was  told  by  Juana  that  she  was  in  the  summer-house — that  she 
slept.  A  knowing  smile  slightly  curled  his  lip.  Dinner  was 
served  him  in  his  chamber.  The  wine  of  Xeres  sparkled  before 
him.  He  drank  with  the  manner  of  one  who  enjoys  a  tempo 
rary  respite  from  all  the  cares  of  life.  He  finished  the  goblet; 
refilled  it;  finally  emptied  the  flask,  and  threw  himself  into  his 
hammock,  with  a  cigar.  He  smoked  for  a  while,  then  rose,  drew 
forth  another  flask  of  wine,  broached  it  and  drank  freely;  finished 
his  cigar  in  his  hammock,  and  after  a  little  while,  restlessly  work 
ed  himself  out  of  it.  His  eye  was  humid,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his 
steps  uncertain.  He  looked  about  him  with  an  air  of  hesitation, 
then  repeated  his  draught  from  the  flask,  and,  with  a  sudden  im 
pulse,  hurried  out  into  the  verandah,  and  down  the  steps  into  the 
garden.  The  keen  eyes  of  Juana  followed  him  *rom  below. 


DAHK  DESIGNS.  307 

She  saw  (hat  he  ma^le  his  way  towards  the  summer-house,  while 
h«»  fancied  himself  unseen. 

l>  ( >h  !  "  she  muttered  sotto  voce,  as  she  watched,  "  Oh  !  if  the 
garoU  vil  only  had  its  teeth  in  the  neck  of  the  right  one,  I  know 
who  would  never  drink  two  whole  wine-flasks  at  a  sitting,  and 

th.n! "  The  sentence  was  left  unfinished,  unless  the  final 

i'jariilatL>n,  after  some  pause,  may  be  considered  a  proper  part 
of  it :— "  Oh  !  the  poor  Senorita  !  " 

-I  tiana  NVIS  not  much  given  to  pity.  It  was  nate  to  the  uncle, 
rather  than  sympathy  for  the  niece,  that  caused  her  ejacul* 
fons! 


CHAPTKR  XXV. 

44  Approach  the  chamber,  and  destroy  your  sight 
With  a  new  Cordon. M 

MACHKTH. 

THE  day  had  been  one  of  considerable  bustle  in  Havana,  and 
Don  Baltba/ur  bad  been  very  busy  all  tbe  morning.  Juan  do 
Anasco,  tbe  contador,  a  brave,  choleric  little  fellow,  who  united 
all  tbe  qualities  of  tbe  soldier,  with  the  experience  of  (lie  sailor, 
had  been  a  second  time  dispatched  to  coast  the  shores  of  Florida, 
in  order  to  find  a  proper  harbor  to  which  tbe  expedition  might 
sail  direct,  lie  arrived  the  previous  night,  after  a  protracted 
voyage  of  three  months,  during  which  great  fears  were  enter 
tained  that  he  had  been  lost  at  sea.  His  escape  bad  been  a  nar 
row  one,  and  it  will  illustrate  the  superstitions  of  bis  lime  and 
people,  to  show  how  he  returned  thanks  to  Heaven  for  his  resto 
ration  and  safety.  In  fulfillment  of  a  vow,  made  at  a  moment  of 
extreme  peril,  he  and  all  his  crew,  the  moment  they  reached  the 
shores  of  Havana,  threw  themselves  upon  their  knees,  and  in 
this  manner  crawled  to  church  to  bear  mass.  Then  be  made 
his  report  of  disasters  and  discoveries,  and  described  a  secure; 
harbor  which  he  had  found  in  Florida.  The  armament  of  De 
Soto  had  been  nearly  ready  for  several  days  before.  It  needed 
now  but  little  further  preparation,  and  waited,  in  fact,  but  a  fa 
vorable  wind.  The  report  of  Anasco  stimulated  the  industry  of 
all  parties.  De  Soto  was  impatient  to  depart,  and  his  de-ires 
were  v(,  many  keen  spurs  in  the  sides  of  the  lieutenants,  keeping 
them  incessantly  employed.  Don  I'altha/ar,  as  we  have  mentioned, 
had  been  verv  luisv  all  the  morning,  and  hence,  perhaps,  his  rather 
free  indulgence  in  the  pleasures  of  the  wine-cup  after  the  toils  of  the 
dav  were  over. 

806 


LOVE    AND    AMBITION. 

That  night  there  was  a  great  feast  to  be  given  by  th*  Adelan- 
tado,  to  the  cavaliers  and  chiefs  of  his  army,  and  the  principal 
»ns  of  Havana.  It  was  the  policy  of  De  Soto  to  keep  up 
the  i -nthus-asm  of  his  people  in  regard  to  the  expedition,  and  to 
conciliate  the  affections  of  those  whom  he  was  to  leave  behind  him 
under  the  government  of  his  wife.  To  this  feast,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  the  two  Portuguese  brothers  were  invited,  and  Andres,  the 
younger,  though  just  recovered  from  his  illness,  had  resolved  to 
attend.  Not  so,  Philip.  II?  had  fully  resolved  not  to  accom 
pany  the  expedition ; — we  have  seen  with  what  reason.  He  en 
joyed  no  command,  and  felt  that  he  had  not  made  himself  friends 
among  the  Spaniards,  and  that  he  could  never  become  the  favor 
ite  of  the  Adelantado.  But  his  chief  reason,  perhaps,  lay  m  the 
growth  of  his  hopes  of  favor  in  the  eyes  of  Olivia  de  Alvaro.  If 
>he  approved  -ad  consented  to  his  prayer,  the  conquest  of  Florida 
would  pos^-ss  no  attractions  in  his  eyes.  Ilis  ambition  had  grown 
moderate,  as  his  love  increased  in  fervor.  His  passion  for  ad- 
venture  had  suddenly  become  subdued  in  the  birth  and  growth 
of  a  more  powerful  passion.  If  Olivia  smiled,  what  was  Florida 
to  him?  He  eared  nothing  for  its  golden  treasures.  The  pearls 
which  it  seemed  to  proffer  wre  worthless,  in  comparison  \,  .vo 
those  of  love.  And  he  was  hopeful.  That  Olivia  loved  him  he 
could  scareely  doubt.  Her  eyes  had  shown  it — her  emotions — 
the  public  voiee  seemed  to  proclaim  it;  and  Nuno  deTobar,  wh) 
brought  him  the  tavorablr  reports  of  his  ir;ly  young  wife  held  it 
to  be  beyond  all  <me>tii»n,  -i:id  solemnly  a-Mi;.vd  hi'::  t<»  tin4*  ef 
feet.  Hut  Nuno  was  not  pieparvd  to  countenance  the  lover  in 
hi>  refusal  to  take  part  in  the  expedition.  He  himself  was  aho..t 
IT  leave  the  youii^  and  beautiful  creature  whom  lie  had  just  wed- 
•iud  ;  why  -lioiild  Philip  de  \  :os  be  mmv  anxious  than 

himself  ?      Why  -lnuild  so  l»rave  a  cavalier  refuse  all   opportune 
on.jmM.  tl    treasure,    and    p.iwer,  >irn- 

ply  !)..•<  au-c  he  was  a  lover  ?  "H;,-  notion  se.  me-1  to  him  p«T- 
fectiy  ridieulou>,  and  he  gr.-atly  resented  the  absence  from  thp 
upon  which  Philip  had  r^olved. 


VASCOXSELOS. 

"  It  will  never  do,  Philip,"  said  he. 

"But  it  must  do,  Nuno,"  answered  the  other  fray ly.  "What 
should  I  do  at  this  Nipper?  I  shall  not  be  a  favorite,  if  present. 
I  shall  win  none  of  De  Soto's  smiles,  and.  in  truth,  I  care  not  to 
win  them;— and  I  shall  not  be  miWd  if  absent.  There  will  be 
enough  to  shout  their  hopes  and  desires,  and  to  respond,  with 
sweet  echoes,  to  the  line  promises  of  I  >e  Boto.  There  uill  be 
enough  for  the  wine,  at  all  events,  and  I  should  be  only  out  of 
plaee  in  a  scene  for  which  my  temper  doea  not  lit  me.  Brsides. 
my  presence  will  only  hav,-  the  effect  of  persuading  the  Addantado 
that  I  will  yet  accompany  the  exposition." 

"And  you  must,  Philip;  we  cannot  well  do  without  you." 

"I  have  not  been  treated,  Nuno,  as  if  such  were  the  common 
opinion/1 

"But  it  is,  no  matter  how  they  have  treated  you;  such  is  their 
conviction,  no  less  than  mine!" 

"Then  are  they  the  most  ungrateful  rascals  in  the  world,  and 
the  greater  foob,  too,"  replied  Philip.  "But  not  to  vex  yon, 
Nuno  (and  for  your  sake  I  should  really  wish  to  go.  were  it 
proper  that  I  should,  under  the  present  circumstances),  I  an. 
grown  too  tender-hearted  for  war!  Its  image  now  offends  me.  I 
nothing  persuasive  in  the  aspect  of  glory;  there  is  noihin- 
sweet  in  the  music  of  a  trumpet  charge,  though  it  leads  to  victory. 
My  dream  now  is  of  repose,  of  a  sweet  M.lituile  in  the  shade,  with  :i 
pair  of  loving  eyes  looking  ever  into  mine,  and  the  voice  «»f  a  true 
heart  breathing  ever  in  my  ear  the  music  of  a  pa.ssi.m  which  askfl  lir-t 
for  peace— peace—  peace!  This  dream  haunts  me  ever.  It  takes 
from  me  the  passion  as  the  pride  of  arms.  It  compensates  for  all  I 
lose:  With  Olivia  in  the  country,  I  shall  be  too  happy  to  repine  at 
any  of  your  conquests." 

"Now  do  I  almost  wish  that  she  may  refuse  thee." 

"No,  thou  dost  not." 

"Thou  deserve^  it!" 

"  What,  for  being  truer  and  more  devoted  to  love  than  to  am 
bition?" 


PHILIP'S  OIUKC  TIOX  TO  FLORIDA.  :n  i 

"  No,  but  for  thy  desertion  of  ihy  comra/ 

"Comrades'     oh:  Lr"<>d  friend  and  brother  of  mine,  as  I  will  call 
thee.  for  tliou    hast    been   true   to  inc.  and    full   of   brotherly   1- 
since     I     have    known    thee—  dost    thou  not   smile  within  thyself  at 

thy  own  f«,lly.  when   thou  Bpeaketi   of   //.//   etunrodet  among   the 

cavalier-  of  DC  S..to?" 

"Am  1  net  thy  comrade,  and  wilt  thou  MilT.-r  me  to  go  alone 
on  this  expedition  of  peril?  " 

"Thou  gocst  with  tlnj  comrades.  Xuno.  hut  not  with  mint 
rtm.i  art  a  favorite.  when-  they  ],M,k  upon  me  with  ill  favor. 
They  will  serve  thee  with  loyalty,  and  support  th,,  :  and  follow 
thy  lance  to  battle  with  a  joy;  and  exult  in  thy  victories,  lint 
on  mine  they  look  only  with  evil  eyes.  Follow  thy  In-lit.  Xuno. 
and  cherish  thy  passion  for  conquest;  and  none  will  more  truly 
rejoice  in  thy  successes  and  -,„„!  f,,rlum.  ,j1;m  lllt.  ,  .....  ,.  i-,,,-^,, 
of  Portugal.  But  thou  ohex-M  a  (MlfldOD  which  I  d,,  not  feel,  ami 

thou    hast  encoungemento  in  which    I   do   ,,.»t   .hare.    Art  thou 

not  uMivasc.nal.h-.  mi  ,///„>,.  in  thy  d<-maiid  that  I  shall  partake 
(lf  th(>  l)('ril  "f  ""  «-xp«-.liti,,n  which  promis,-,  neither  pride,  nor 
rewunl.  nor  t'avi.r  of  any  sort?  " 

Nun.,  de  Tohar  was  silenc,-d.  Hi,  frien.l  had  spoken  but  the 
truth.  He  changed  the  subject. 

"So,  none  of  the  Kthiops  that  I  s(.n.l  theeuill  answer?  Verilv. 
Philip,  for  a  wiv,.  ,„..,„  ,),,„!  ],.Jxt  ,,,..,„,,,.  ,„,,,•,„,.,  ,,,-  ,|lill(. 
own!  Of  what  matter  to  thee  that  a  DCgTO  sUve  xh.,,,1,1  |,(. 


"  Not    handsomr,    but    well-lookin-.      N,,w.    ;i|l    tbofle    that    \\ere 
olTered     me    u  .  IV    allion^r    the     U-lie-t     and     in.M      ill  looking    kn 
in  the  world—  mod,-  Is,,  f  def,,rmity  an.l   u-line-.      I    confefiB   BUCh  M 
tln-e  otfeiid  my  >i-ht." 

It  is  the  common  aspect  of  the  ra«  . 

but     there    are    degrees,    in    which     U»  •-    do    not 

otrend." 


:irt     suited.       Hut     !he    *l\\\     klli-ht. 
I>-     >inolar.  hath    proini-  ,1    DM  MOM     pa-able    urchin^ 

but    I.,,    will    require   a   .-.eat    price    fa    hi  pus 


812  VASCONSELOS. 

ticularly  when  he  knows  they  are  for  thee.  He  regards  thee  as 
a  dangerous  rival." 

"  What !  aspires  he  to  Olivia  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  and  with  the  approbation,  it  is  thought,  of  her 
uncle.  De  Sinolar  was  greatly  annoyed  at  thy  success  in  the 
tourney,  and  would  have  taken  lance  himself— he  avowed — to 
encounter  thee ;  but  that  he  had  no  horse  to  be  relied  on,  and 
lances,  he  thought,  were  things  quite  too  frail  for  a  man  to  peril 
his  honor  upon.  He  hath  every  confidence  in  his  own  skill, 
strength  and  courage,  but  doubts  if  the  wit  of  man  hath  yet  con 
ceived  any  adequate  weapons  upon  which  these  may  securely 
rest  themselves  in  the  tournament.  He  holds  himself  in  reserve, 
however,  when  the  becoming  implements  of  battle  shall  bo 
made." 

"  There  is  wit  in  the  knight's  philosophy.  Think  you  it  came 
from  himself?" 

"  Verily,  I  do  not.  He  reads  much  in  Amadis  and  other  ad 
ventures  of  chivalry,  and  the  excuse  hath  an  antique  fashion. 
And  thou  didst  not  see  the  Lady  Olivia  yesterday?" 

Philip  told  of  the  encounter  with  the  outlaw  and  the  alguazils, 
and  added, — 

"  But,  with  the  blessing  of  the  Virgin,  I  will  seek  her  to-day. 
While  you  are  preparing  for  your  feast  I  shall  speed  to  her 
dwelling,  resolved  to  put  to  hazard  all  my  hopes." 

"  She  loves  thee,  Philip  !  I  know  it,  if  I  know  anything  of  the 
heart  of  woman.  She  will  accept  thee,  my  friend,  and  thou  wilt 
be  happy !  But  should  she  refuse  thee  ?" 

"  Then,  perchance,  thou  wilt  find  me  beside  thee  when  thou 
liftest  lance  against  the  Apalachian." 

"  I  could  almost  pray,  Philip,  that  she  should  send  thee  from 
hef  wi'  h  the  blessing  of  Abaddon,  which  is  gaid  to  be  very  much 
like  a  curse !" 

And  he  grasped  vigorously  the  hand  of  his  friend.  They  sep 
arated  after  some  further  conversation,  and  Philip  retired  to  the 
recesses  of  his  humble  lodging. 

The  day  passed  slowly  to  our  unight  of  Portugal.     He  had 


THE   HOUR   OF   LOVE.  815 

appointed  to  himself  the  afternoon  for  his  purposed  visit  to  Olivia. 
lie  way  impatient  for  its  approach.     His  soul  was  teeming  with 
delicioas  fancies.     Truly,  as  he  had   said   to  Nuno  «!••  '!'«•• 
was  delivered  up  to  softer  influences  than  those  of  war.     The 
sweet  and  balmy  atmosphere  he  breathed,  grateful   though 
vating,  contributed  to  the  gentle  reveries  of  the  lover !     The 
hour  chosen  for  his  visit  to  the  beloved  one  was   especially  ap 
propriate  to  such  an  object.     Nobody  who  has  not  felt,  can  pos 
sibly  conceive  of  the  balm  and  beauty-breathing 
such  a  climate,  of  the  hour  which  just  precedes  th>i  sunset  ;  when 
his  rays,  bright  without    i  .un  with  soft   beauty  through 

s.  and  wrap  them  in  a  halo,  that   makes  them   as 

i-Iy  sweet  a-  Lro!de!i.     There  is  a  delirious  mystery  to  the 
soul  that  delights  in  i^enf!  in  the  -hudows  at  this  hour— 

in  the  Miiilini:  izlane,  in.  when  he  -infuses  all  thr  hori/on 

with   the   warme>t    flu-lies   of  orange,   green,   and    purple.      In   a 
region  where  the  OXMOfoe  heat  and  glare  ofhi«  :i_r'nt  at  noon  are 
ungrateful  to  the  eye  and  oppressive  to  the  frame,  the  day 
airily  ntleii-N,  e.veu   at  early  morning;   and  the  soul  nr<-e--arily 
sympathi/.es  with  its  several  agents,  even  as  one  spare*  hi-  slave 
'ask  which  exposes  him  to  pestilriiee   or  st«-rm. 
Thus  the   spirits  sink   as  the  form   suflers.     The    sun-et   hour  in 
•/i on  n-deems  the  day.      It  is  tin-  day — the  all  «>f  da\ 
that    thi-  e\c   require-.      It    is  by  a   natural   in>tin«-t    that,  in   this 

.    he    who   seek-    for    love    choo-c-,   thi-  hour,  or  tli' 
which   i-   l;urht«'d   by  a  moon,  tor  his   purpo 

'  thi-m-elves  in  all  climates  as  the   period-  when  the  heart 

-  .  forth   in   <jue-t    of  its  kindred.      But    here,  these  are  the 
only  |  •  ly  could   find  :•  love-making  in 

Cuba   during   the   noonday.      V>   dam-id  would   believe  the   loy 
alty  of  the  heart   that  -o  laeks  ,li^-relion   a-  to  prefer  it- 
siu-h  a  time.     The  day  i-  nbtru-ive.  and    \Q\ 

It  i-  a  tliinu'  of  tr.'iuors  and  timidities.      It  haunt  ':<•.      It 

has  a  conseiousness  of  something  in  its  <pie-t  which  it  holds  .juife 
too  sacred  for  H  or  the  risk  of  exposure;  and  as  it  only 

u 


314  VASCONSKLOS. 


when  indifference  would  speak,  so  it  shrinks  and  hide* 
when  audacity  and  pride  go  forth. 

The  delicious  softness  of  the  hour  sunk  deeply  into  his  soul,  a« 
Philip  de  Vasconselos  passed  into  the  shady  and  silent  defiles 
leading  through  the  thick  woods  which  girdled  the  hacienda  of 
the  lady  of  his  love.  The  sweet  light  from  the  slant  beams  of 
the  declining  sun  flitted  from  tree  to  tree  before  him,  like  the 
butterfly  wings  o^  a  truant  fancy.  The-  ^  right  droplets  fell, 
here  and  there,  through  the  groves,  lying  about  like  eyes  of  fairies, 
peering  <  trough  the  thick  grasses  along  the  slopes.  Philip's 
heart  was  fairly  open  to  fairy  eyes.  His  soul  warmed  and  was 
thawed  beneath  the  spells  of  that  winged  and  fanciful  sunlight. 
He  had  thrown  aside  all  the  restraints  which  held  him  in  check, 
through  policy  when  amid  the  crowd.  Here  was  solitude,  and 
silence,  and  the  shade  ;  —  and  the  pathway  led  to  love  ;  and  the 
smiles  of  heaven  were  upon  his  progress  !  His  step  was  free 
as  air  ;  his  soul  buoyant  with  hope  !  He  would  soon  feast  his 
«yes  upon  those  precious  features  of  the  beloved  one,  which 
seemed  to  them  to  make  a  heaven  of  the  place  where  they  in 
haVted  !  And  the  great  shadows  gathered  behind  him  as  he  went  ; 
ah3  the  trees  grew  motionless  ;  and  the  woods  ceased  to  breathe 
ana  murmur  ;  and  the  silence  deepened  ;  and  the  pathways  dark 
ened  ;  and  all  was  harmony  and  security  !  These  transitions 
increased  the  sweetness  of  the  scene,  and  as  the  glances  of  tin- 
sunlight  grew  less  frequent,  they  seemed  brighter,  and  softer.  and 
more  tender  and  touching  in  the  eyes  of  the  lover.  Philip  \svnt 
forward,  meeting  with  no  interruption.  He  passed  from  pathway 
to  pathway  along  a  route  well  known.  The  avenues  widened  : 
he  was  approaching  the  dwelling.  In  a  few  moments  he  would 
be  in  the  sight,  would  be  at  the  fee',  of  her,  upon  whose  word 
hung  all  his  world  of  hope  and  fear.  Well  might  he  tremble 
with  the  increase  of  his  emotions.  What  heart  is  wholly  brave 
at  such  a  moment  ?  and  who  does  not  feel,  with  great  misgiving, 
that,  where  the  anticipation  is  so  pregnant  with  delicious  life, 
its  denial  and  defeat  must  bring  a  pang  far  greater  than  that  of 
death? 


MATi:n   i;i;nrni:s    \    KAVOK.  315 

It  was  iu  the  midst  of  his   wildest   anticipations  and  most  trem 
bling   hoju-s,   that    Philip  was  suddenly   arou-ed    to    mon-   common 
•iatinns.    l>y   the   appearanre  of  a   man   suddenly  springing    out 
of   the   lemon   thicket    be-ide   him.      He   drew    hack,   and   laid   hand 
upon    his    sword.       But    the    v,,jr,.    of   the    stran-vr    iva-siired    him. 
It  was  that  of  the  outlaw  Mateo,  who  was  almost  breathless,  e\i< lent ly 
1,    hi-    eyes    dilated,    and    his    tone-    trembling    with 
emotion. 

"Don't     be    alarmed,    Sefior.      I     am    not    your    enemy!     I     am 
your   friend!     You   have  done  me   service,   and    helped    me   to 
cape    from    my   enemies.     I  would   not  notr   harm   a   hair   of  your 
head .     I  would  serve  you— ay,  do  you  good  service— would  save  \  •  >u 
from  a  great  evil." 

'•  What  evil?" 

:m- with   me!"  and  he  laid   his  hand   respectfully  upon  the 
knight's  arm,  as  if  to  conduct  him  forward. 

"  It  is  thither  1  am  going,"  said   Philip.  "  but  I  mu-t   go  "/"/"  .  my 
good  fellow." 

alone!       I   know  tlnii .       \\\\\    yoll  wel'e  -oiiiLT  to 
the  \OUt6.     >'/"    i-   not    there.     She   is  at    the   bower  in   the   wood-. 

there  you  mud  toek  bar,     You  wen-  ,!_roimr— pardon  me,  Senor. 

—to  declare  your  love  for  the  Sefiorita." 
"  How,  sirrah!  " 

:don   me,   Senor.    I     -ay   airain:— but     I    know    it ;— everybody 
in    Havai.  it.      I    im  an    \\»\    \<>   otl't nd.      I    tell    you    I    \ 

'•!•<•  you.      I   li.vryou  and   honor  you,  and   OW€    V"ii    gratitude. 
It    is   this   that    makes   me  -ay  \\hat    I    do, — and   lead    vou    this 
You  must  nut  make  l..\v  i.iih,-  Senorita.     Sln-i-n-.t  for  JOd, SeftaT,    - 
-h«-  i-  not  worth\  i,f  you!  " 

••  How,  fellow!     Do  not  provoke  me  to  aiiir- 

me.  Sefi.n-;  but  irive  me  time,  and  irive  \fnir-elf 
time.  .lust  come  with  me  now;  "and  he  alm^-t  draped  him 
foruard.  "  There,— into  that  avenu,  —  f-.llow  it— it  will  had 
you  to  the  -uiiini.-r  hoii-c.  (in  fOTWW  .juickly — 

but     go  rtfy— suy     nothinir,    but     M.  I'll,  n,    if 


316  VASCONSELOS. 

you  will, — tell  the  Senorita  that  you  love  her — that  you  come  to 
make  her  your  wife  !  " 

There  was  something  in  all  this  proceeding  which  was  so  earli 
est  and  so  startling,  that,  though  it  offended  the  proud  knight  be 
cause  of  the  freedom  of  the  outlaw's  manner,  he  did  not  feel  like 
showing  anger.  Indeed,  he  was  too  much  startled,  too  sensibly 
impressed  with  a  nameless  terror,  to  be  altogether  conscious  of 
the  extent  of  the  liberty  which  Mateo  had  taken.  lie  fancied 
that  Olivia  was  in  danger,  and  vague  notions  of  serpents  and 
tigers  rose  before  his  imagination.  Intuitively,  he  obeyed  his 
tutor,  and  darted  into  the  alley. 

"  Softly,  softly  ! "  cried  tho  outlaw,  following  close  behind. 
In  a  few  moments  he  reached  the  summer-house.. 

"  Go  up  the  steps — in — the  Senorita  is  the-*.  Go — look — 
BOO  ,  but  softly,  very  softly,  and  do  not  speak  !  " 

Philip  obeyed,  and  ascended  the  steps  of  the  verandah  ;  the 
curtains  were  lifted  ;  he  disappeared  among  th^  columns,  and 
Mateo  waited  without,  among  the  groves.  He  h^d  not  long  to 
wait.  Scarcely  had  Philip  disappeared  from  his  r^ht,  when  his 
form  was  again  seen,  emerging  from  among  the  columns.  A 
single  hollow  groan  escaped  him.  Mateo  darted  forward  to 
mo.et  him,  and  the  knight  staggered  down  the  steps  almost  fall 
ing  into  his  arms.  The  outlaw  hurried  him  into  th«-  thicket. 

'  Quickly,  quickly  !  "  said  he. — "  He  will  have  Veard  that 
groan.'! 

Philip  staggered  away,  without  oifering  oppositioa  His  head 
swam  ;  his  knees  tottered  beneath  him. 

"  I  am  very  faint !  "  said  he. 

"  Rest  here,"  answered  the  outlaw,  conducting  him  M  a  wooden 
seat  enveloped  in  shrubbery,  and  almost  forcing  him  <i^wn  upon 
it,  while  lie  plucked  an   orange  from  the  shrub-tree  ah* -e  him. 
.n  a  second  laid  its  rich  juices  open  with  a  knife. 

"No  I"  exclaimed  Philip,  after  a  pause-,  rejecting  the 
and  staggering  up  from   the   Mat—-"]  cannot  rest  here,  •** 
where  !     Let  us  away  !  away  from  this  place  ! " 


THE    SPELL    BROKEN.  317 

"  You  have  seen  ? " 

"  No  more  !  Do  not  ask  me ; "  and  the  knight  of  Portugal 
covered  hi>  eyea  with  his  hands. 

"Stay  fora  moment!"  Mild  the  outlaw — "  while  I  go  back, 
and  give  him  this!"  and  he  lifted  his  huge  machete  as  he  spoke, 
and  looked  the  matador  about  to  strike. 

"No!"  hastily  answered  the  knight, — laying  his  hand  upon 
the  arm  of  the  outlaw.  '•  It  must  not  be  !  Put  up  your  knife. 
What  is  it  to  us1?  what  is  it  to  us  ?  Let  us  go  hence  ! " 

And  he  started  forward,  blindly,  and  once  more  in  the  direc 
tion  of  tiie  summer-how 

"  That  is  not  the  way  !     That  leads  you  back " 

With  a  >h udder,  Philip  wheeled  about,  and  hurried  on"  in  the 
opposite  direction;  the  outlaw  following  him  respectfully,  and  in 
silence.  In  tfa  lilence  thf.y  wound  their  way  through  tin- 

thickets  of  lemon  and  orange.     When  they  approached  the  \ 
of  the  estate.  Mateo  stopped  suddenly  : — 

"  1  must  go  no  further.  Here  I  must  leave  you,  Senor.  I 
must  not  ri-k  exposure." 

Philip  iiraspi-d  his  iiand. 

•'  Thanks,  my  good  fellow,  thanks  !  1  have  nothing  more  to 
tjive.  YOU  have  done  me  j^ood  service  ;  but  at  what  expense — 
what  su<V.  ring  !  " 

•  i  :'   1-c  Othei  -'.  '        8    '.or?" 

"No!    I   thank  you.      It  is  well!  you  have  saved   me  from  a 
i   me   a   u'reat  hurt.      I   would    I    had    the 

mean  :     reward  you.      lint  1  thank  you  !   I  thank  you  !  '"  and  he 
groaned  heavily. 

••  1  a-k  no  reward.  S.-fior.      I  am  only  too  happy  \.-> 
I  wish  1  could    §erve    you  forever.      I  feel  th   !     I    could  Work  foi 
y<»i.  and  C»r  any  trm-  man  like  you  !      I^ut  I  can't  work  foi  a  bad 
one;  mid  a  bea-t  !      I  would  i"'  happy  to  ^n  wirh  y«>u  to  KI  tl 
But  tin-re,  Don  Haltlia/ar  would  know  me  through  any 
And  yet,  I  might  get  O?er  :hit.      I.-  t  me  go  in  . 

And  a  new  imjmU-  upon  the  outlaw,  the  ex 


318  VASCONSELOS. 

pression  in  his  face  declaring,  as  fully  as  words,  the  renewed 
purpose  in  his  mind. 

"No!  , lot  till  you  promise  me  you  will  do  nothing  in  this 
matter.  I  see  what  you  mean.  But,  if  you  slay  Aim,  you  expose 
hfr  !  Let  him  live.  You  cannot  go  with  me  to  Florida.  I  know 
not  that  I  shall  go  myself.  Stay  where  you  are.  Get  back 
to  your  mountains.  But,  as  you  live,  and  as  you  love  me,  breathe 
not  a  syllable  of  this  !  Farewell !" 

With  these  words,  and  having  received  the  outlaw's  promise, 
Philip  de  Yasc-onselos  turned  away. 

"  It  is  gone  !"'  he  murmured  to  himself  as  he  went.  "  It  is 
gone,  the  hope,  the  brightness,  and  the  joy  !  all  gone  !  Oh  !  Jesu ! 
what  a  ruin !"  and  he  again  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  as 
if  to  shut  out  a  spectacle  of  horror.  "  Oh !  would  that  I  had  the 
monster  in  a  fair  field,  with  only  sword  and  dagger  !" 

Thus  exclaiming,  he  disappeared  from  sight.  Mateo  sank  back 
into  covert,  and  soon  he  heard  the  voice  of  Juana  in  the  thicket. 
He  suffered  her  to  approach  him.  She  had  followed  the  steps 
of  her  brother  and  the  knight.  She  had  seen  them  as  they  left 
the  summer-house,  upon  which  it  would  seem  that  she,  also,  had 
been  ki'.''!!M«r  watch. 

"What  have  you  seen,  Juana?1'  demanded  the  outlaw  sternly. 

"  All  !" 

"  Ah  !  all !     You  do  not  mean  that " 

"Yes!  I  saw  when  you  and  Don  Philip  went  towards  the  sum 
mer-house.  I  was  in  the  thicket.  When  the  knight  of  Portugal 
came  down  the  steps  and  groaned  so  loud,  it  roused  Don  Hal- 
tha/ar.  lie  I-HIK-  out  soon  after  you,  and  looked  about  him,  and 
I  lay  close.  But,  seeing  nothing,  he  went  back  again." 

••  Well  !  what's  done  can't  be  undone;  but  look  you,  Juana,  if 
\  on  whisper  a  word  of  this  to  anybody,  I'll  slit  your  tongue. 
DO  you  hear  now  ?  Well  !  remember  ;  I  am  just  the  man  to  do 
1  promise,  though  you  are  my  own  sister/' 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"I've  <lono  my  journey  //<  /v  ;  my  day  is  out, 
All  tha,t  the  world  has  else,  is  foolery, 
Labor  and  loss  of  time.    What  should  I  live  for? " 

UKAUMONT  AND  FLETCHEK. 

"WHAT  remains,  hut  that  I  should  seek  Florida— seek  the 
wilderness — the  solitude — the  strife! — forget — forget!  Oh!  Lethe-, 
would  thou  \vcrt  not  a  fable!" 

Such  were  the  muttered  exclamations  of  Philip  do  Vasconselos,  as 
he  went,  almost  hlindly  forward,  on  his  way  to  his  l..\vly  abode. 

"It  is  all  over!  all  blasted!  The  dream— tin-  too  precious 
dream!  Jrsu  !  that  it  should  end  thus!  How  should  it  be  so ! 
How  should  she— so  fair,  so  gentle,  so  seemini:  pure  and  an- 
gflirl—Ha  :  Ha!  Ha!  It  is  not  wonderful!  It  is  a  truth— 
an  experience  old  as  the  hills!  When  came  the  tempter  ever 

in    irarments    of    an    angel    of    light  !       It    i^    the    one    p< 
which    he  possesses,  over   all   others,   of   seeming,    to   mortal   . 
the   thing  he  is   mo>t    unlike!     And   how  nearly  had  I  fallen  into  the 
*nare  !       How    blind,     neither    to    see    nor    to     -u-pect  '       But     for 
tlii>    outlaw— thi-N    slave--!    had    been    a    lot    man— >i»ld    to  a  delu- 
sion  —  expending     my    soul    upon    a     phantom  —  laying    my    best 
lions    in    tribute    upon    an    altar    which    devotes    them    all    to 
shame'     Yd.  I  cannot   thank    him!     lie   hath,  at   a  word,   in   a  mo 
ment,     by    a    s|M-ll,     robbed     me    of     the    one    ulad.     j«»\"ii>    \  i>ioll    of 
my  life'     I   had    but  (.tie  hop.-,   and    he    hath  destroyed   it!     I   knew 
but    one  desire,   and   he   hath    made   it    death!     What    now   should  I 
live     for?      Of     what     avail    that     I    am     youmr,    and     fetlkflB,    and 
skilled    in   arms,   and   all    noble   e\en  i-i-s'.'      Th.     motive    tor 
formance  ia  gone,  and  the  lite  goes  with  it.     All  i*  a  blank  be- 

m 


320  VASCONSELOS. 

fore  me ;  dl  cheerless,  all  bitterness ;  a  long  waste  of  darkness 
and  denial !" 

And  he  threw  himself  down  hopelessly  by  the  way -side. 
Darkness  had  settled  down  ;  but  the  stars  were  coming  out,  si 
lently  and  palely,  looking  like  the  spectres  of  past  pleasures. 
The  distant  lights  of  the  city  were  present  to  his  eyes  also.  There 
were  torches  flaming  upon  the  farthest  hills,  and  pyres  were  burn- 
irg  before  booths  and  camps,  from  which  rose  faintly,  at  inter- 
vals,  the  sounds  of  merriment.  Gay  laughter  and  shouts,  he 
heard,  or  fancied,  rising  from  rustic  groups  engaged  in  the  fan 
dango  ;  and  anon,  but  more  faintly,  he  caught  the  tinkle  of  a 
guitar  rising  from  some  bohio  or  cottage,  in  the  contiguous  hol 
low  of  the  hills. 

"  They  laugh !  they  shout !  they  sing ;  as  if  there  were  not 
a  shadow  upon  the  earth — as  if  guilt  and  shame  had  not  fouled 
the  fairest  aspect  under  heaven  !  Jesu,  to  be  so  beautiful  and 
sweet  to  the  eye — to  acquire  such  power,  through  sunniest  charms, 
over  the  soul,  and  yet  to  fail  in  the  one  great  virtue  which  alone 
makes  all  dear  things  precious  to  the  heart !  But,  is  it  so]  Is 
it  true  1  Have  I  not  been  deceived  ?  Am  I  not  betrayed  by 
treachery  and  cunning  1  May  it  not  all  be  a  delusion  of  the 
senses  ?  Is  it  sure  that  it  was  she  ?  Did  not  mine  eyes  deceive 
me  ;  and,  while  there  is  a  doubt,  shall  I  give  faith  to  an  assurance 
so  terrible — so  revolting — so  fatal  to  the  loveliest  work  of  heav 
en  !  It  was  dusk — the  woods  were  thick — the  sunbeams  did  not 
pierce  them — the  curtains  hung  around,  darkening  the  chamber! 
—there  was  a  woman,  but  is  it  certain  that  she  was  Olivia  —  my 
Olivia!  the  pure,  the  proud,  the  beautiful  ?  Was  1  not  too  ready 
c,  believr  the  aeciirsed  suggestion  of  the  outlaw  ;  was  there.  no 
eontrivanee  for  rny  ruin-  for  her  ruin?  What  if  I  return  and 
and.  it'  it  I.e  true,  what  should  keep  mr  from  slaying  him,  at 
least,  and  looking  her  to  stone  with  eyes  of  s.orniulness  and 
hate  !" 

Hut  he  did  not  rise.  He  could  not  doubt.  He  could  not  de 
iude  himself  into  the  thought  that  what  be  had  seen  was  a  mere 
delusion  of  the  sense*  It  was  too  true — too  rail — and  the  more 


321 

he  strove  to  dispel  the  conviction,  the  more  it  grew  t3  strength, 
and  took   posses-ion  of  his  soul  ;  filling  it  with  u  nameless   and 
mdescrihable  horror.      For  an   hour  he  lay  thus   upon   the  earth, 
delivered  to  despair.      There  was   ••,,  refuge  f  >r  hope  in  thought, 
and    he   lay  brooding,  with   an    aimless    mind,  and    an    agoni/ed 
spirit.     At  last,  he  rose.     The  strong  nian  rarely  sinks  below  a 
iiii   point.      lie  may  he  overwhelmed,  like  the  weakest.  l>\   a 
U,  «it  once  terrible,  revolting,  and  nnexpeeted  :   but  the  In-art 
gathers  its  forees  after  a  season,  ami   natuiv.  compels  the  proper 
:•  her  own  reeo\ery  and  repose.      The  grief  may  remain, 
Imt  it  does  not  overcome.      It  may  prove  a  lasting  blight    to  the 
hope,  the   fancy,  the   allcctions  ;    but    there    is   a  calm    roolution 
which  enables   the  sullerer  to  live  and    to  perform;   for  perform 
ance  i<.  beyond   all  otlier  things,  the  natural    law,  and   the  !;> 
sity  of  the  true  man;  and  even   the  sorrow,  which  wounds  and 
blig'1  _rlhen  the  noble  courage  and  the 

indomitable  will.       Philip  de  V  .  -    rose    tV»m    the   eartli 

at  la-t.  lie  had  become  >-'in--what  more  composed.  His  will 
and  character  were  beginni*  .  :  themselves.  He  wa-  >till 

the  master  of /;/,•-. sr//V  lie  rose  and  went  forward.  >ad!y.  slow 
1\.  but  resolutely  ;  endeavoring,  with  all  the  calm  he  could  com 
mand,  to  -hape  th.-  COUne  tor  his  pmgivsx  in  the  future.  This 
was  soon  decided  in  hU  mind. 

Th--  lights  of  the  city  grew  before  his  eyes.      Tin-  torches  and 

the    hills    that    skirted    the   city.  beCEl 

glaring,  and  ra-t   their  great    ml   -hadows  upon    his  path.     Th.- 
voicc^  of  merrinu-nt,  the  >ongs.  the  >lumts.  the  joyous  cries  and 
lauizht.-r.  with  the  tinkle  of  pleasant  instruments,  b.-came  ].. 
and    mon    frequent    on    hi-    ear.       Suddenly,    his    eye    caught    a 
glimp-e  of  tl  Mi|«»rary  -triu-ture.  of  p«»h-.  :  with 

palm  bi-anche-.  and  tin-  broad  leaves  of  other  trees,  in  wh:   ' 
ki:i 

"  \\  h  •.'  "  mm  mured  Philip,  ••  Imt  tliat  I  ur"  with  this 

•  \  \Vhat  mattiTs  it  to  me.  now  that  I  am  n«.  lav. rite  ? 

tnger  to  i,e  encounl 
among  the  Ap,ila«-hi.i-    and  he  who  is  armed  as  I  am  now,  against 


322  VASCONSELOS. 

all  terrors,  can  make  himself  a  favorite,  by  making  himself  fear 
ful.  What  better  region  in  which  to  bury  my  sorrows,  and 
hide  my  anguish  from  vulgar  eyes  ?  Where  can  I  more  surely 
escape  from  this  agony  of  thought  ?  In  the  fierce  strife,  there 
will  be  forgetfulness  ;  and  forgetfulness  will  be  the  most  precious 
of  hopes,  even  though  it  comes  only  through  the  embrace  with 
death.  I  will  go  with  Nuno !" 

Under  this  new  impulse,  he  hurried  forward  rapidly  towards 
the  scene  of  festivity,  as  if  fearing  to  trust  himself  to  think  further 
upon  the  subject  of  his  progress.  It  was  not  long  before  In- 
reached  the  place ;  the  shouts  from  within,  the  music,  assailing 
his  ears  with  a  sense  of  pain,  without,  however,  impairing  his 
resolution  to  join  the  revellers, — to  engage  in  their  expedition. 

The  structure  in  which  the  Adelantado  and  his  Floridian  chivalry 
held  their  feast  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  rude,  simple  fabric,  de 
signed  only  for  the  temporary  purpose.  It  consisted  of  slender 
shafts,  green  trees  freshly  cut,  and  thatched  with  bamboo  and 
fresh  bushes.  It  was  fantastically  adorned  in  a  style  which  the 
climate  and  productions  of  the  country  naturally  snooted  to  the 
eye  of  taste.  The  flag  of  Spain,  the  banners  of  De  Soto,  and  *f 
the  several  captains,  wciv  <li-j>o<e<]  happily  around  the  apart 
ment.  Green  leaves  and  gorgeous  flowers  were  wreathed  about 
the  columns,  declaring  visibly  the  wealth  of  the  delicious  region 
of  which  they  were  the  natural  tribute.  Fruits  in  gay  festoons 
hung  down  within  reach  from  the  rafters :  the  luscious  pine,  the 
mellow  banana,  the  juicy  and  fragrant  orange.  Of  the  provis 
ion  for  the  feast,  it  will  be  much  easier  for  the  reader  to  imag 
ine  than  for  us  to  describe.  Enough  that  the  Adelantado  and  the 
knights  of  the  expedition  had  done  their  best  to  requite  the  hos 
pitalities  of  the  Islanders  in  a  fashion  worthy  of  their  own.  They 
had  expended  no  small  part  of  the  treasures  remaining  from  theii 
outfit,  in  doing  the  honors  gallantly  and  with  becoming  ('Menta 
tion.  They  not  only  provided,  as  it  was  the  ni>t<>m  of  the  gen 
try  of  the  city  and  country  to  provide,  but  they  studiously  pro 
cured  dishes  such  as  they  had  merely  lu-ard  described,  and  fancied 
others,  the  better  to  outdo  description — "  Exhausted  catt*t  and  ther 


THE    FEAST.  /23 

imagined  new."     Tin-  turtle,  fresh  from  the  sea,  furnished      t  only 
soup,     a  first  course,  which  was  served  up  in  the   uncom  i  mon- 
ster'-  own  slu-11 ;  game  and    domeado   poultry,   including   d«. 
from  the  nn^  peaoooka,  their  plumage  aitfbllj    li-po- d 

.;  ihr  liir.ls  after  they  were  made  ready  by  the  coo:     for  the 
table.  BO    M    almost    to    represent    the    living   nvaturi      liis   gay 
:'ner-  of  given. and  purple. and  g..«ld, looking  as  brigl    and  fairy- 
like  a<  when  lie  unfolds    them    to    si^ht.    strutting  am     spreading 
himself  aliroad  from  court  and  verandah.      Some  di-1:  -  ,  wnv  ]'i\-- 

!  foniicd  wholly  of  the   tongues   <»f  singing    hir.N  ;   an«l 
may  add.  were  eaten  with  an  appetite  such  as  might  he   assumed 
uly  with  a  hop,,  to  win  the  musical    powers   of  the 
mciiib.-r    thus    hushed    forever.       The    unripencd    plantain 
i  and  Krowiied  in  sugar  by  the  fire;  or.  ma-led,  was  in.--. 

if  the  cane.      This  course,  by  the 
!  by  one  counting  wholly  of  sea  and  shell-fi-h. 
\va-  succeeded  by  fruits  of  more  than  twenty  kind-,   all   na- 
«-f  the  island.      l-'re-h  guayavss,   fragrant    anana<.    bananas 
and  saj-adillos.  yielded  themselves  to   drlightei!    palati%s    in    deli 
cious  -\iupathy  with  wine<  of  X«MVS,  whicli  hail  already  began  to 

eiivulate  with   potency    before    Philip    de    Vascoiisrlos    entered   the 

•asembly. 

Be  entered  at  a  moment  when    De  Soto  w*is  addre—ini:  his 

aiidieiicc.  The  Spanish  language  i<  one  of  equal  grandeur  and 
beauty  ;  the  Spanish  character  is  rn-e.-ss.-iri'.y  one  of  ambition  and 
hyp.  I'lie  laiiiiuag.-  of  a  peoph-  iNn.iIly  declares  for  its 

chara'-t-  r  in  it-  b.-t  day-.  \\'e  kim\v  from  other  hi-tories  h,,\v 
a  langiiag*-  may  exhibit  more  vitality  than  a  pri.pl,-;  h»w  glori 
ously  it -ur\  i\es  them.  A.  language,  known  through  J  'lire, 

:hap-  the  only  durable  monnmeiit   of  a    | pie.      I).-    Soto, 

i-  is  well  kii"\vn.  wa<  an  aceomj.li-h.  M-atly    distin- 

!  when  Spain  could  e'airn  a  host  of  heroes.      It 

i-  iiiit  so  well    known    that    h  •    wa-    an    aet-ompli-h.-d    sj.eaker, 

.' y  ma-ter  of  th--  arts  ,,;'  s,-,|   in    its   delica- 

ciea,  and  practised  in  all  it- •_"  ;    -.     BRsandienoe listened  to bim 

with  fo^Uisy,  and    rounded   his   sentences  with   their   vivat  and 


324  VASCOXSELOS. 

bra  /'as.  He  dwelt  upon  that  superiority  of  character  which  ex 
ulu-.l  in  adventure.  The  art  of  war,  he  contended,  and  its  pros- 
ivuiion  in  new  lands,  was,  perhaps,  the  very  noblest  and  most 
god- like  of  all  human  arts.  He  spoke  of  the  greatness  of  his 
nation,  as  particularly  renowned  for  the  use  of  this  art,  in  its  most 
inspiring  exercises.  He  painted  fame  and  glory,  brightly  and 
purely,  and  grandly,  as  they  appear  always  to  youth  and  enterprise, 
and  dwelt  upon  the  progresses  of  Cortez  and  Pizarro  in  Mexico 
and  Peru  — subjects,  in  hearing  the  report  of  which,  the  Castilian 
ear  could  never  tire.  By  a  natural  transition  he  came  to  speak 
of  their  present  adventure  in  the  wilds  of  Florida,  lie  did  not 
disparage  the  valor  of  the  rod  men  of  Apalachia,  nor  seek  to  lessen 
tb«-  picture  of  danger  which  he  drew  as  a  necessary  consequence  of 
/he  enterprise, ;  but  he  insisted  upon  the  utter  impossibility  of  any 
valor  of  the  red-men  as  able  to  stand  for  a  moment  before  such 
warriors  as  he  led  to  the  encounter,  lie  particularly  dwelt  upon  the 
great  treasures  of  the  country,  its  glorious  cities  hidden  in  the  bosom 
of  mighty  mountains;  its  treasures  of  gold  and  silver  ;  its  pearls 
t<>  be  gathered  in  heaps  along  its  shores;  arguments  which,  he 
well  knew,  were  beyond  all  others,  in  persuading  young  ambi 
tion  and  greedy  avarice  to  his  banners.  At  the,  close,  seeing 
Philip  de  Vasconselos  enter,  he  took  the  opportunity  of  throwing 
out  a  few  bitter  sarcasms  upon  the  timid,  the  laggard,  the  weak, 
the  souls  deficient  in  true  courage  and  noble  enterprise,  who  hung 
back  when  an  occasion  so  glorious  was  offered  to  their  eyes. 

The  glances  of  the  assembly  followed  those  of  the  Adelantado, 
and  rested  upon  the  flushed  countenance  of  Philip,  lie  saw  the 
direction  given  to  the  words  of  De  S«>t«»,  and  felt  the  purpo- 
the  latter  to  indict  a  sting  upon  his  pride  and  hea'1.  He 
proudly  when  the  Adelantado  had  finished,  and  looked  sternly 
around  tin-  assembly.  It  was  surprising  how  composed  he  \va>. 
He  appeared  fully  to  have  recovered  himself,  and  though  very 
grave,  as  the  occasion  secin.-d  to  ivijuiiv.  he  was  (juite  as  firm 
and  calm  ;i>  it'  he  labored  under  no  other  provocation  than  that 
which  he  had  just  received.  Never  was  individual  less  daunted  by 
the.  circumstances  in  which  he  stood.  He  saw  that  there  was  di» 


PHILIP'S  DEFENCE.  825 

satisfaction  —certainly  constraint — in  the  faces  of  nearly  all  around 
him;  reflecting  that  in  the  countenance  of  the  Adelantado,  who 
scarcely  acknowledged,  with  a  stately  bend  of  the  head,  the 
Mired  but  courteous  approach  of  our  hero,  and  the  deepening 
shadows  u{H>n  whose  brow  argued  no  friendly  welcome  for  what 
he  might  say.  But  Philip  was  little  moved  by  these  unfriendly  au- 
gpioes.  He  respected  De  Soto  as  a  brave  and  noble  cavalier, 
distinguished  equally  by  talents  and  graces,  and  high  in  favor  of 
his  sovereign ;  but  his  respect  and  admiration  were  not  so  pro 
found  ;us  to  cause  him  t<>  stiller  any  mortification  from  the  loss  of 
hi-  :'  ••iimtriianc'1.  lie  advan.-ed  towaids  the  dais  which 

had  been  aligned  to  the  Adelantado,  raising  him  a  little   above 
the  iv-t  «»f  the  asscmblv. — passing  through  the  crowd  with  ex 
ingly  deliberate  pace,  until  he  Stood  but   a    few    prices    from    the 

pef-oli    lie   a«Mre-scd. 

ir   Kxcei:  .id  he,  "has  been   pleaded  to  ind 

•.lin  remarks  of  censure  upon  that  unambitious,  unperforming 
and  timid  class,  who,  bred  to  arms,  are  yet  reluctant  to  eii;_ 
in  the  honorable  adventure  to  which  you  invite  them.      I  cannot 

ive  myself  as  t..  the  fact,  that  certain  in  this  assembly 
ire  <li-po-e<l  to  make  these  remarks  applicable  to  the  person 
who  now  addresses  you.  I  trust  it  is  not  necessary  to  say 
that  for  any  one  who  would  impute  to  me  the  want  of 
eon  rage,  I  have  but  a  single  an-wer.  ami  that  lies  at  the  point  of 
m\  weapon;  be  it  lanee.  or  >word,  battle-axe,  or  dagger.  1  am 

.;,  to  encounter  any  (jiicstioner.     That    I    have  been  slow  in 

•  !\in_r  to  aecoinpany   this  expedition,  has  been  no  fault  of 
mine.      I    came  hither  from   my  own  land  for  this  very  purp 
and  until  1  reached  Havana.  1  knew  no  disposition  t.)  change  my 
determination.      It  will   be  admitted.  I  think,  that  the  ,  ' 
inent-  oil- T< -1  to  me  for  this  adventure,  however,  have  been  . 

;   and.  perhaps,  were  I  to  say  the  truth,  I  should  dc-s. 

ikeii  with  me  as  designed    specially  to  rebuke  the 
Mimption   whieh  had   prompted  me  to  seek  a  place  under  thu 
banner  of  Castile." 


326  VASCONSELOS. 

"  Not  so,  Senor,  not  so,  by  God !"  exclaimed  De  Soto,  inter 
rupting  him  energetically. 

"  Be  this  as  it  may,  your  Excellency,  it  is  one  of  those  things 
upon  wnich  I  do  not  dwell ;  for,  to  me,  war  and  adventure  carry 
their  own  encouragements;  and  it  is  found,  always  in  the  thm 
of  danger,  that  no  one's  sword  is  amiss  that  does  good  service 
on  our  side.  I  have  no  fear  that  in  the  day  of  trial,  I  shall  fii'l 
to  prove  my  right  to  be  present  where  blows  are  given  and 
received.  Encouragement  I  need  not, — discouragement  will 
never  chill  my  enterprise  or  lessen  my  strength.  That  I  hesi 
tated  to  engage  under  your  banner  when  I  came  here  was  due  to 
other  influences,  which " 

De  Soto  smiled  grimly.  Philip  saw  the  smile,  and  his  face 
was  suddenly  flushed  with  crimson. 

"  But  it  matters  not,"  he  proceeded,  "  to  say  wherefore  I  hesi 
tated  to  declare  my  purpose.  It  will  suffice,  your  Excellency, 
to  say  that  I  am  now  prepared,  if  permitted,  to  accompany  your 
expedition  to  the  country  of  the  Apalachian — a  country  which  I 
somewhat  know  already — a  people  with  whom  I  have  already 
had  fierce  as  well  as  amicable  intercourse, — and  among  whom,  it 
may  be  found,  that  my  presence  shall  work  for  good  to  your 
Excellency's  enterprise." 

This  said,  Philip  de  Vasconselos  bowed  courteously,  and 
calmly  wheeling  about,  made  his  way  back  to  the  place  where 
he  had  entered  the  apartment.  The  Adelantado — the  audience — 
was  taken  completely  by  surprise.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  unexpected  to  all  ears.  De  Soto  spoke  in  reply  approv 
ingly,  and  with  warm  compliment.  Other  voices  followed  with 
the  same  burden.  But  Philip  neither  heard  nor  listened.  He 
was  making  his  way  out,  when  his  hand  was  suddenly  seized  by 
that  of  his  brother  Andres. 

"  Brother !"  was  all  that  the  latter  said. 

"Andres,  my  brother!"  exclaimed  Philip,  throwing  his  arm 
around  the  neck  of  the  youth^  while  a  sudden  gush  of  tears  from 
overfiilJ  fountains  blinded  his  eyes.  No  more  was  said  between 


THK    SUDDKN     UK.SOLVE.  827 

them.  Such  was  their  reconciliation.  The  speech  of  Philip  had 
taught  Andres — strangely  enough — that  tin?  passion  of  his  brother 
for  Olivia  de  Alvaro  had  proved  as  l'nii;le>>  as  his  own.  Why? 
This  was  the  my>tery  which  none  could  solve.  Philip  tore  him 
self  away  from  the  brief  embrace,  and  was  hurrying  out,  when 
Nuno  de  Tobur  ru>hed  up,  and,  warmed  with  wine,  caught  him 
exultingly  in  his  arms. 

••  Hut  how  is  all  this,  Philip?" 

At  that  moment  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro  suddenly  entered, 
and  was  pas>ing  very  near  them.  Instinctively,  Philip  gra^p<-d 
the  handle  of  his  sword,  and  his  eyes  were  fastened  upon  the 
uncle  of  Olivia,  with  such  an  expression  as  made  the  latter  >tart, 
as  at  the  approach  of  a  famished  tiger.  Philip  recovered  him 
self  in  a  moment,  turned  away  from  the  face  of  him  whom  he 
longed  to  destroy,  and  was  followed  out  by  Nuno  into  the 
air. 

"  Tell  me;'  said  the  latter,  "  how  comes  this  change?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  Nuno ;  enough  that  I  go  with  you." 

"  Holy  Mother,  but  your  looks,  Philip " 

"  Heed  them  not — heed  me  not — let  me  leave  you,  Nuno,  1 
am  n«>t  lit  for  thU  assembly/' 

"  Hut  you  have  been  to  see  Olivia — you  have  seen  her?" 

"  I  have  seen  her !" 

1  >hi-  refused  you  ?" 

"  No  ! — 1  have  not  >pokcn  with  her." 

M  her— but  not  spoken  !— What !     Your  coura-je  failed 
you  at  the  la-t  moment — you  had  not  the  heart?" 

"  I  had  not  the  heart !" 

••  JetQ  !   man  !     What  weakness  is  th: 

"  No  weakness  !      No  more,  Nuno.     There  is  that  which  put* 

rnal  barrier  between  Olivia  de  Alvaro  and  myself— a  bar- 

•  •pas  the  irrave,  illimitable  as  hell.     I  can  tell  you  nothing. 

You  b  it    diMn-xs   me  when   you   ask — ask   nothing.      From  this 

mom.  nt  name  her  not  to  me,  Nuno,  unless  you  would  make  me 

j  our  ftxi  for  ever !" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Cenci.    Speak,  pale  slave  !  what  said  she? 
Andrea.    My  Lord,  'twas  what  she  look\L    She  said: 
Go,  tell  my  father  that  I  see  the  gulf 
Of  Hell  between  us  two,  which  he  may  pass ; 
I  will  not," 

SHELLEY.— The  Cenci. 

DON  BALTHAZAR  was  greatly  surprised  by  what  lie  heard  in  the 
assembly,  of  the  declared  purpose  of  Philip  de  Vasconselos  to 
accompany  the  expedition.  It  was  a  surprise  to  everybody — 
how  much  more  to  him!  Such  unexpected  good  fortune  was 
hardly  to  be  hoped  for.  The  danger,  now,  of  a  suitor  to  his 
niece,  so  likely  to  be  successful,  no  longer  threatened  him.  At 
the  first  moment  when  he  learned  the  fact,  he  felt  an  exhilar 
ating  sense  of  triumph.  But  soon  he  asked  himself,  how  was  so 
sudden  a  change  wrought  in  the  purposes  and  feelings  of  the 
knight  of  Portugal?  But  a  day  before  he  was  known  to  be 
eager  and  determined  in  his  purpose  to  address  Olivia.  His 
hope  of  success  was  good,  and  every  voice  encouraged  the  prose 
cution  of  his  suit.  Why  the  change  in  his  purpose?  That 
Philip  had  not  addressed  his  niece,  Don  Balthazar  was  quite  cer 
tain.  That  they  had  no  interview,  he  was  assured.  That  she 
had  received  no  written  communication  he  was  equally  confident. 
It  was  dear  that  Philip,  without  testing  his  hopes  at  all,  had  sud 
denly  abandoned  them.  Wherefore?  The  question  began  to 
stagger  the  inquirer.  Guilt  is  always  a  thing  of  terror,  and  the 
.  •  ry  of  such  guilt  as  that  of  Don  Baltha/ar,  was  doubly 
terrible  to  the  conscious  fears  within  liis  bosom.  He  now  saw 
the  significance  of  that  look  which  Philip  had  cast  upon  him  as  he 
came  into  the  assembly,  and  readily  divined  the  mystery  which  puz 
zled  all  other  persons. 


THE   GUILTY   I'oysr-iENCE.  329 


"  Ho  has  discovered  all  !''  was  his  secret  thought.  "  Yet  how  ?" 
I  !  .1-  til--  farther  difficulty.  "  What  was  the  discovery  which 
Philip  had  made  V  •*  To  what  decree  was  he  committed  by  it?" 
Hi-  anxieties  increased  with  his  uuutlered  inquiries,  addressed  to 
him-clf.  Puit  Don  Balthazar  had  a  rare  faculty  of  self-eonoeal- 

mcnt.     II  vein---  was  a  large  development  in  his  iv 

•li/.-ition.      He  could  smile,  and  look  calmly  about  him,  and 

i  the  frivolous  conversation  of  society,  —  in  all 
busings  of'  tli  •  m»\vd  —  -eemingly  unmoved,  —  while  the  vultures 
of  doubt.  .Mul  dread.  and  conscience,  were  all  at  work  tearing  at 
his  vita!-.  He  joined  in  the  talk  going  on  in  fhe  assembly.  In 
thi<  wax  he  illicit  obtain  some  clues  to  the  secret  of'  Philip. 
But  he  learned  nothing  satisfactory.  One  fact,  however,  he 
from  all  that  was  s;lid.  wiiie:  his 

thought-;   and  that  only  related  to  the  -udden  ;  ppearance  of  the. 
.t  of  Portugal,  at  a  late  hour,  in  fact  not   many  minute- 
himself.      "  Where  hid  he  been  till  that  hour?"      While  a-k- 
ing  him*  !f  this  question,  Xuno  de  To  bar  reappeared  within   the 
circle.      "  !  will  sound  hiui  .'"  was  the   uncxpre  .  'ilion  of 

the    I>  kuntered    around,   gradually    winding   hi< 

:rds  the  place  \\hcre  Xuno  hat.l   taken  liis  seat.      The  counte- 
ihe  latter  was  troubled.      UN  mind  was  !•;  ..nfu 

sion,  a-  well  from  the  wine  he  had   taken,  as  from  ' 
with  Philip.      But  the  appro.*  h  ,,f   I  ),,n  Baltha/ar  served,  in  some 
idy  liis  intellect,  and  make  him  08 

tha'  '  mole  had  been  h«i-:i!e  to  his  friend.     It  ha 

with  which  Philip  had 

•iia/ar,  but  a  few  momeuN  b  •  that  of  a  de 

termined.  if  ;  ^ympathi/'1  \vith 

'- 
1  1      had    himself  • 

now  more  than   6V(  '  ird    IJ;MI  a<  an  enemy. 

In  »  1  that    (}, 

il  in 
:  6  of  her  i. 

Thus  feeling,  he   v,  y  the   approach  of  the   Don; 


330  VASCONSELOS. 

made  reserved  and  cautious ;  as  the  good  soldier  is  apt  to  feel 
when  in  an  enemy's  country,  and  marching  through  a  region 
proper  for  snares  and  ambuscades.  Besides,  by  prudent  manage 
ment  might  he  not  find  out  something  in  respect  to  this  mystery  ;• 
Don  Balthazar  probably  knew  the  cause  of  Philip's  conduct. 
There  might  have  been  an  open  rupture  between  them  : — Don 
Balthazar,  like  Philip,  had  been  absent  from  the  festivities  imlil  a 
li.e  hour.  They  had  reached  the  assembly  at  nearly  the  same 
time.  Might  not  their  mutual  absence,  and  arrival,  have  been 
due  to  a  common  cause  1  Nuno  determined  to  search  this  mat 
ter.  He  would  probe  the  inquirer.  His  mind  co-operating  with 
his  feelings  and  his  instincts,  became  cool,  searching  and  vigilant. 
and  Don  Balthazar  extracted  nothing  from  him.  That  he  was  as 
little  successful  in  penetrating  the  bosom  of  the  Don — habitually 
cool  and  circumspect — was,  perhaps,  to  be  expected.  They  sepa 
rated  after  a  profitless  and  brief  conference,  which  satisfied  neither. 

But  if  Don  Balthazar  extracted  nothing  from  Nuno,  the  young 
wife  of  the  latter  was  something  more  successful.  From  her  he 
had  few  concealments.  Scarcely  had  he  reached  home  that  night, 
warmed  with  the  festivities  in  which  he  hui\  shared  so  freely,  and 
excited  by  the  nature  of  the  mystery  which  oppressed  him,  when 
he  began  his  revelations. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  Leonora,  it  is  all  over  with  Philip  and 
Olivia  ?  There  is  a  breach  between  them,  which  Philip  says  is 
impassable  !  He  has  joined  the  expedition.  What  has  caused 
it,  he  does  not  say  ;  but  he  tells  me  that  there  is  an  end  of  the 
matter  ;  that  she  is  nothing  to  him  now." 

"  Blessed  Maria !  what  does  it  mean  ?  Has  she  refused  him  ? 
Foolish,  foolish  creature!  But  she  always  said  that  she  would.*1 

"  But  she  has  not !  He  has  not  asked  her !  He  told  me  so  in 
so  many  words." 

"  And  1  don't  believe  a  word  of  it !  You  men  are  so  proud 
and  vain  that  you  never  like  to  confess  to  a  rejection.  It's  the 
way  with  all  of  you.  Be  assured  that  Philip  has  been  refused. 
She  said  she  would  refuse  him,  but  I  did  not  believe  her.  I  know 
she  loves  him.  But  she  is  so  strange.  It  does  appear  to  me, 


LEONORA'S  SAGACITY.          331 

sometime-,  as  if  she  were  not  in  her  right  mind.  And  to  refuse 
so  nice  a  cavalier  !  I  wonder  where  she  expects  to  find  another 
like  him.  But  it's  not  her  doing,  I'm  sure,  not  her  own  heart ! 
lt'>  thai  cross-grained  unele  that  she  has.  He  has  done  it  all.  1 
wonder  what  is  the  secret  of  his  power  over  her.  I'm  sure  she 
hates  him.  But  he  rules  her  in  spite  of  it ;  and  he  has  compelled 
her  to  refuse  him." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,  child  ;  for  I  believe  Philip,  and  he  positively 
assured  me  that  he  had  not  asked  her.  lie's  not  the  man  to  lie, 
or  to  be  ashamed  of  rejection.  He  has  no  such  weakness.  He 
was  very  earnest  about  it — very  miserable, — and  entreated  me 
never  again  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject." 

"Then  I'm  sure  she  has  refused  him.  Did  he  say  he  had  not 
seen  her  f 

"No!     I  knew  that  he  went  to  the  hacienda  late  in  the  after 
noon,  and  he  admits  that  he  saw  her,  but  did  not  speak  to  her." 
"  Now,  as  if  that  were  reasonable,  Nuno." 
"  It  is  certainly  very  strange.      I  can't  see  into  it." 
"  But  I  <!•>;  and  the  whole  mystery  lies  in  the  one  fact  that  he 
ha-  simply  b.en  rejected,  and  his  pride  will  not  confess  it.      lie 
ha>  been   mortified  by  refusal,  when  he  counted   confidently    on 
And    I    confess.  1  counted  on  it  too ;  for  though  Olivia 
always  -aM  that  she  would  refu-e  IIMII,  yet  I  know  that  she  l»\vs 
bun  desperately,  ami  as  >he  will  love  no  other  man.      But  it  is  all 
the   doing  of   I)on    Baltha/ar.      lie   hates    Don   Philip — he   hates 
both  tlie  brothers   -I  have  ,-cen  (/i,it  a  thousand  times.      But  what 
arc  his  hate-  to  her.  ami  how  has  h,-  succeeded  in  making  her  sa 
crifice  her  love  to    them  \      What   is  the   secret  of  his  power  to 
rontrol  her  against  her  own   happine-s  and  will?     That  is  th 
\\hich  I  -houM  like  to  fin. I  out !" 

_pht,  I  sn>p,vt.  in  ascribing  it  all  to  her  uncle. 
Philip  i;  i:ot  the  man  to  !-„-  rejected  by  any  woman  in  a  hurry, 
and  I  am  OOHYUIOed,  like  \  -  .i:r-c!f,  that  Olivia  really  loves  him  sis 
-he  -.vill  be  likely  to  |0\v  no  oth.-r  person.  But  there  is  -mne 

mystery    in    the    whole   aflliir.      The    j r  girl  i-   very    unhappy. 

That  I  have  long  seen,  and  Don  Balthazar  is  at  the  bottom  of  all 


332  VASCONSELOS. 

her  troubles.  He  manages  her  property,  and  has,  I  suspect,  but 
iittle  of  his  own.  He  will  be  very  unwilling  to  resign  the  power 
which  this  gives  him  into  the  hands  of  any  other  person.  The 
only  wonder  is  that  she  does  not  see  this,  and  assert  her  indepen 
dence.  She  has  sense  enough  to  understand  her  rights;  but  she 
is  so  weak, — so  timid " 

"You  mistake  her  there!  Olivia  is  a  woman  of  very  strong 
passions,  and  can  be  very  firm  and  obstinate  upon  occasion 
What  surprises  me  is,  that  she  does  not  assert  her  will,  and  show 
the  strength  of  her  passion,  in  an  ailair  which  so  deeply  concerns 
her  own  happiness,  and  where  her  heart  is  evidently  so  much  in 
terested.  This  is  the  difficulty.  I  do  not  wonder  that  Don 
Balthazar  should  oppose  and  deny,  but  that  she  should  submit  ; 
and  the  question  is,  how  does  he  obtain  this  power,  by  which  to 
rule  her  as  he  pleases,  against  her  own  affections,  when  he  him 
self  is  possessed  of  none  of  them." 

"  Yet,  it  is  his  influence  certainly,  that  has  somehow  brought 
the  affair  to  this  unfortunate  conclusion,  and  Philip  feels  this. 
Had  you  but  seen  the  look  which  he  gave  Don  Baltha/ar  wh.«n 
they  met  to-night.  His  fingers  clutched  the  handle  of  his  sword 
convulsively,  and  the  gleam  of  hatred  in  his  eyes  was  mixed  up 
with  such  an  expression  of  horror  and  disgust,  as  1  never  saw 
in  mortal  eye  before.  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"Still,  I  think  that  they  will  come  together  yet.  She  loves 
him,  I  tell  you,  beyond  all  other  persons.  She  will  never  sutU-r 
herself  to  be  deprived  of  him,  if  she  can  help  it;  and  I  don't 
think  she  could  survive  it.  I  tell  you,  Nuno,  she  idolizes 
Don  Philip,  and  she  will  marry  him  yet,  in  spite  of  Don  Bal 
tha/ar." 

"Yt^.    j.rrhap-;-  -and    yet,  fmm  what    Philip  said    to-niolit.    jt 

will  hardly  depend  upon  her,     II.-  u-rd  the  sin. 11-4,.^  lan-ri,;,^,. » 

"Oh!  a  fig  for  the  Strong  laniruain-  of  a  lover.  I  know  what  it 
means  alwa\>!  II.-  wrill  forget  bis  resolution  at  soon  as  he  lay  a 

his  eyea  upon  her,  and  looks  into   hrr   pale  BWeet  tare,  and  I; 
the  soft  silvery  voice  that  answers  to  his  own.      IK-  i>  now  only 
under  the  first  fee-ling  of  vexation  and  anger.     He  talks  as  if  he 


A   SEARCH    FOR   A   SECRET.  333 

would  tear  her  to  pieces,  no  doubt  ;  but  let  him  sleep  upon  it,  and 
he  will  rise  in  the  morning  to  renew  his  worship.'' 

"  Philip  de  Yasconselos  is  like  no  other  man,  I  know." 
"Ah!  you  are  mistaken.     In  some  things  all  men  are  pretty 
much  alike  ;  and  in  an  affair  of  love—  where  there  is  real  love  — 
your  strong  cavalier  and  stately  Don  are  just  as  feeble  as  th«- 
man  of  silk  and  velvet.     You    are  all  pretty  much  alike—  all 
easily  overthrown  —  where  women  are  concerned." 
ult  is  a  very  strange  affair  throughout." 

"  I'll  find  it  out  to-morrow,  if  I  live.  I'll  see  Olivia  in  the 
morning,  and  she  must  have  sharper  wits,  and  greater  strength, 
than  1  believe,  if  >he  can  hide  the  secret  much  longer  from  my 
eyes.  You  will  admit  that  if  Philip  has  seen  her,  then  the  prob 
ability  is  that  >he  has  refused  him." 

••  Hr  himself  admits  that  he  has  seen  her  —  seen  her  thi- 
day,  but  denies  that  he  lias  spoken  with  her.      There   is  the  ditii 
culty  —  that  is  the  surprising  fact." 

n  her,  but  not  spoken  with   her!      You   say  he  went  to 
r,  and  did  see  her,  but  said  nothing]" 
"Yes;  that  is  precisely  what  he  asserts." 
"Oh!  he  means  no  more  than  this  —  that  he  did  not  propose.'' 
"It  mav  be  —  vet  he  spoke  very  precisely  and  positively." 
u  Well,  Olivia  will   be    able  to    an-\\er    that.      She  will, 

.  infers  that  there  was  an   interview;   though  she  may  tell 
iii"  nothing  of  what  parsed  between  them.      If  >hesay>  so  : 

hat,  y.  >u  will    ivadily  Mippose    that     Don    Philip    has   Dimply 
kept  back  .Noiufthing  \\hieh  his  pride  will  not  sutler   hin. 


••  \  ,-.  ;—  though  how  to   believe  it  of  Philip  —  how  to  su: 
him  tO  we.ik,  or  to  think  that  he  ^hould  keep  ba<-k  the  truth  from 
me  —  that  i-  \shat  troiiM.  >  me." 

Well,  lea\e  it   till  th"  morrow  ["  -aid  the  wife. 
With  the  inoi  !    to    prtieirate    the    m\ 

1'ol.ar   prepared,  at    an    earl\    liour,    t«>\Uit    her  friend. 
found,  une\p«-<  t.-dly,  th"  \m   !••   I  -tli'-r.      Olivi.. 

.ooking  paler  than,  usual,  and  wore  an  exhausted   and  suffering 


334  VASCONSELOS. 

appearance.  Hvr  eyes  were  dull,  heavy,  anobservant  and  e* 
pressionless.  Her  whole  mental  nature  seemed  stagnant ;  she 
Moved  like  an  automaton  ;  welcomed  her  guest  as  one  in  a 
dream ;  and  sunk  back  upon  the  settee,  after  the  exertion,  like 
one  worn  out  with  long  watching.  Leonora  was  quite  as  flippant 
a>  ever,  and  for  a  while  talked  about  a  hundred  nonsensical  mat 
ters  quite  foreign  to  the  one  which  filled  her  thoughts.  She 
longed  and  waited  anxiously  for  the  moment  when  the  withdrawal 
of  Don  Balthazar  would  afford  her  the  opportunity  which  she 
desired  for  broaching  the  one  subject  for  which  alone  she  came. 
But,  as  if  he  divined  her  object,  he  seemed  no  ways  disposed  to 
take  his  departure.  He  bore  patiently  the  torrent  of  small  talk, 
which,  with  the  hope  of  driving  him  away,  she  poured  out  from 
a  most  inexhaustible  fountain.  But  in  vain.  He  fortified  him- 
self  with  a  pile  of  papers,  which  he  displayed  upon  the  parlor 
table  soon  after  her  arrival.  Busying  himself  in  army  and  navy 
estimates, — for  Don  Balthazar  filled  several  different  departments 
in  the  bureau  of  the  Adelantado — he  strove  to  busy  himself  in 
the  midst  of  details ;  ami,  though  the  incessant  buzzing  in  his 
ears  must  certainly  have  defeated  every  attempt  at  thought  or 
investigation,  he  persevered  in  the  appearance  of  both,  with  un 
wearied  industry.  The  patience  of  Leonora  was  not  of  a  sort 
t«»  contend  with  that  of  the  veteran,  resolved  upon  an  object. 
She  gave  way  at  last,  but  by  no  means  with  the  intention  to  beat 
a  retreat.  She  only  prepared  to  change  her  operations,  and,  fail 
ing  at  blockade  and  starvation,  she  determined  boldly  to  effect 
her  purpose  by  assault.  Olivia,  all  this  while,  seemed  quite  un 
conscious  of — certainly  indifferent  to, — all  that  was  going  on.  She 
neither  looked  up  nor  listened,  nor  had  a  word  to  say.  Never 
was  there  a  more  perfect  exhibition  of  apathy,  or  we  might  say 
despair.  What  to  her  was  all  this  childish  prattle,  of  her  child 
friend?  What  cared  she  for  that  small  personal  talk  which  made 
the  Imrdeii  of  all  her  conversations?  She  had  neither  mood,  nor 
heart,  nor  head,  nor  memory,  nor  sense,  for  all  that  was  saying 
or  had  been  said.  She  was,  in  truth,  laboring  under  a  sort  of 
aberration  of  mind,  the  result  of  drugs  and  evil  practice,  of  the 


A   CHANGE    OF    OPERATIONS.  336 

whole  extent  of  which,  though,  in  her  sane  moments,  she  had 
suspicions,  she  had  really  no  conscious  knowledge  except  by  her 
prolonged  sufferings  day  by  day.  But,  very  soon,  the  conversa 
tion  aroused  her.  Tin-  daring  Leonora,  according  to  her  new 
plan  of  operation,  now  addressed  herself  to  the  uncle.  Turning 
to  him  very  abruptly,  and  whsn  he  was  least  prepared  for  the 
assault,  she  said — 

"  So,  Don  Balthazar,  we  are  to  lose  Don  Philip  de  Vasconselos 
after  all.  The  report  is,  that  he  joined  the  expedition  last  night, 
atVr  a  very  eloquent  speech.  But  you  must  have  heard  it  all, 
and  can  tell  us  much  better  than  anybody  else." 

Olivia  looked  up  with  a  wild  and  vacant  stare,  but  the  sense 
•:ied  to  be  slowly  kindling  in  her  eyes.  With  a  frown,  Don 
Balthazar  replied : 

"  I  do  not  see  what  there  is  to  tell.  No  more,  it  appears,  than 
you  know  already.  Your  husband  was  present.  He,  perhaps, 
remembers  the  speech,  since  he  regards  the  knight  of  Portugal 
ill-thing  of  an  orator.  Let  him  report  it." 

"  Well,  I  suppose,  after  this,  the  fact  may  be  held  undeniable; 
and  now  the.  wonder  is  why  he  should  have  left  his  purpose 
doubtful  so  long.  Why,  but  a  week  ago,  it  was  in  everybody's 
mouth  that  he  was  not  to  go  at  all — that  he  had  abandoned  the 
expedition  altogether." 

••  Well,  you  admire  him  the  more,  I  suppose,  because  of  his 
feminine  caprices/"  was  the  surly  an-wcr. 

"No,  indeed,  though  1  don't  see  anything  amiss  in  caprices 
now  and  then.  They  are  rather  agreeable,  to  my  notion.  But, 
in  his  CMe,  people  found  good  reasons  for  his  refusal  to  go;  better, 
.  than  I  can  find  for  h:-  pfi  -«-nt  change  of  mind." 

"Ah!  well!  good  reasons?" 

"To  be  sure  !  Very  excellent  reasons,  Sefior  ;  they  gave  him 
credit  for  dis.-ovi-rini:  more  precious  treasures  in  Havana  than  he 
was  like  to  find  in  Florida,  and  at  less  peril  of  life  and  comfort; 
and  these  were  surely  good  reason-  for  -r.i\  inur." 

a  Humph !"  quoth  the  Don,  looking  askance  At  Olivia,  in 


896  VASCONSEL08. 

whose  eyes  the  returning  light  of  thought  was  momently  grow 
ing  more  intelligent. 

"  The  truth  is,"  continued  Leonora,  "  nobody  could  question 
the  admiration  of  Don  Philip  for  our  dear  Olivia  here.  Every 
body  saw  it ;  it  was  in  everybody's  mouth ;  and  to  confess  my 
conviction,  I  was  very  sure  that  Olivia  had  just  as  much  regard 
for  Don  Philip  as  he  felt  for  her/' 

Olivia  sighed  involuntarily.  The  knight  looked  very  savage, 
and  turned  over  his  papers  diligently.  After  a  pause,  he 
said, — 

"  I  know  no  law  which  forbids  fools  to  talk  about  their  neigh 
bors.  I  suppose  it  is  hardly  punishable,  since  such  people  are 
not  to  be  held  strictly  to  account  for  what  they  say  ;  but  I  trust 
my  niece  has  given  no  sufficient  reason  for  the  assumption,  on 
the  part  of  any  body,  that  she  had  given  a"way  her  affections 
gratuitously  to  any  man — to  one,  indeed,  who  had  never  sought 
them." 

"Well,  Senor,  that  is  well  said  by  a  guardian  ;  but  hearts  are  not 
always  regulated  by  the  strict  letter  of  domestic  law.  They  are 
like  birds,  which  will  break  out  of  cage  if  you  leave  the  door 
open.  Affections  are  strangely  wilful  things,  Senor,  and  very 
apt  to  fly  in  the  face  of  authority." 

"  You  have  good  reason  for  saying  so,  Senora ! "  was  the 
scornful  sneer  of  the  Don  in  return,  emphasising  with  a  pause 
the  pronoun,  and  thus  making  an  allusion  sufficiently  obvious  to 
her  amour  (which  the  church  had  not  sanctioned)  with  Nuno  de 
Tobar.  But  she  received  it  with  a  cool  indifference  that  silenced 
all  further  attacks  of  the  same  sort. 

"  Oh !  if  you  allude  to  me,  I  confess  that  I  have  been  wilful 
enough  and  sinful  enough,  and  that  my  affections  very  readily 
ran  away  with  my  prudence ;  and  but  that  Nuno  was  a  blessed 
good  boy,  and  loved  me  for  my  heart,  and  not  for  my  wisdom, 
I  should  have  been  a  sad  piece  of  scandal  for  all  Cuba.  I  was 
born  a  woman,  Senor,  and  I  believe  I  will  always  be  one,  let  me 
lire  never  so  long.  Now,  a  woman  has  a  natural  faith  in  man, 


A   MATCH   FOR  THE   DON.  337 

as  her  born  guardian,  and  protector,  and  lover,  and  friend  ;  and 
if  he  wrongs  her  faith,  he  discredits  himself,  not  her.  That's 
my  notion  in  such  cases.  Don't  suppose  that  you  make  me  feel 
at  all  uncomfortable  by  your  hints ;  for  I  am  willing  to  admit, 
to  all  Cuba,  that  I  was  very  weak,  and  very  loving — too  loving 
to  believe  evil  of  the  man  1  fancied  !  So  now,  Don  Balthazar, 
it'  it  pleases  you  to  talk  of  my  affairs,  I  can't  prevent  you.  It's 
tlie  fool's  privilege,  as  you  have  ju>t  said,  against  which  then-  is 
no  law,  to  say  what  one  pleases  of  his  friends;  and  you  have 
certainly  the  same  rights  as  other  people;  but,  in  truth,  if  you 
will  suffer  me,  I  will  speak  rather  of  Olivia  and  Don  Philip,  as 
being  just  now  much  better  subjects,  and  about  which  1  feel 
much  more  concerned." 

The  little  woman's  good  nature  actually  endowed  her  with 
wit  and  wisdom.  Don  Balthazar  was  quite  astounded  by  her 
audacity.  She  was  invulnerable  to  his  shafts.  lie  looked  up, 
and  glared  upon  her  more  savagely  than  ever,  but  remained  >i- 
leiit  ;  and  in  a  moment  after,  seemed  more  than  ever  busy  with 
his  documents.  But  Leonora  went  on,  and  somehow,  his  in 
stincts  prompted  him  to  listen.  She  might  have  heard  from  her 
husband  what  the  latter  had  withheld  from  him  ;  and  his  doubts 
had  been  by  no  means  quieted  by  the  reflections  of  the  past 
night.  Leonora  now  especially  addressed  herself  to  Olivia. 

"I  confess,  dear  Olivia,  that  I  am  surprised  and  disappointed. 
1  u>  1  vexed  at  this  >tnin_Lr»'  determination  of  Don  Philip,  know 
ing  that  1,  ."ii.  and  believing  that  you  love  him,  that  he 
should  re-olve  to  go  without  addivs>inii  you.  But  perhaps  he 
//us  d.»ne  so,  and  you  have  bi-eii  K  foolish  as  to  refuse  him  !  Ah, 
my  child,  can  it  be  possible  ?  " 

The  f  Olivia,  now  full  of  expression,  anticipated  the 

reply  of  her  11 

••  H.-  ha>  itot  addiv>sed  me,  Leonora;  he  has  not  even  b- 
here.      I  have  not  se.-n   him  sin<v  the  moment    when  I  was  taken 
sick  at  the  tournament.11 

"  Is  it  possible  1 " 

"True !"  said  Olivia,  very  mournfully.     "True!" 
15 


838  VASCONSELOS. 

"  Nay,"  continued  Leonora,  after  a  thoughtful  pause — "  nay, 
there  must  be  some  mistake  in  this.  You  certainly  Jiave  seen 
him  within  the  last  two  days,  though  he  may  not  have  proposed 
to  you." 

"  No !     I  have  not." 

"  That  is  strange  !" 

"Why  strange?" 

"  He  has  certainly  seen  you  since  the  tournament" 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?"      * 

"  Re  told  Nuno  that  he  had  !     Told  him  so  only  last  night."* 

Don  Balthazar  could  not  keep  his  eyes  upon  the  papers.  He 
looked  up  inquiringly  to  Leonora.  She  noted  the  curious  ex 
pression  in  his  eyes,  and  was  determined  to  withhold  nothing 
which  should  either  obtain  for  herself  the  secret  which  she  de 
sired,  or  should  goad  the  haughty  Don  with  revelations  which 
she  somehow  fancied  would  annoy  him.  When,  therefore,  Olivia 
anxiously  besought  her,  as  to  the  alleged  visit  of  Philip,  she  pre 
pared  to  tell  all  that  she  know. 

"  Well,  I  know  that  he  has  been  to  see  you  twice  in  the  last 
two  days.  He  came  day  before  yesterday,  and  was  a  party  to 
an  encounter  which  took  place  in  your  grounds  here  between  a 
troop  of  alguazils  and  a  certain  outlaw." 

"A  slave — a  me-ti/o  .'"  involuntarily  asked  the  Don. 

44  Even  so  :  one  Mateo  !  Philip  told  Nuno  all  about  it.  He 
interposed,  finding  half  a  score  of  persons  upon  one;  until  the 
officers  told  him  how  the  matter  stood,  and  then  he  suffered  them 
to  proceed.  The  outlaw  made  his  escape,  however;  and  Don 
Philip  then  proceeded  to  visit  you,  when  your  girl,  Juana,  met 
him,  and  told  him  that  you  were  sick  and  had  retired  for  the 
night." 

44  When  was  this  ?"  demanded  Olivia,  with  strange  calmness. 
44  Two  days  ago  only." 

Olivia  rose  and  called  Juana.     The  girl  was  close  at  hand — 
had  been  listening,  in  fact,  ai   the  door.     She  made  her  appear 
ance,  and  on  being  asked,  confirmed  the  story. 
u  Why  did  you  speak  a  falsehood,  Juana?" 


LICIIT    U  UK  A  KING    IX.  339 

The  girl  hung  her  head  and  made  no  answer.     Olivia  turned 

to  Leonora. 

"  You  say  that  Don  Philip  came  here  again,  Leonora?  Was 
her-'  iy?" 

'  Ye- — M  he  assured  Nuno  last  night." 

"  When  ?  at  what  hour?" 

"  La-t  owning — about  dusk." 

"And  saw  me?" 

"  So  he  said  ;  but,  strangely  enough,  he  mentioned  that  though 
he  saw  you,  he  did  not  speak  to  you.  Yet  he  came  to  speak. 
He  came  to  offer  you  his  hand." 

(  Kivia  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  heart,  with  a  look  of  inde 
scribable  suflering.  Don  Balthazar  arose,  somewhat  agitated, 
and  approaehed  Leonora. 

-  Jfou  say,  Se nora,  that  Don  Philip  was  here  last  evening  7 
Last  evening  !" 

••  Y. 

"And  at  dusk?" 

"  About  that  time.  He  came  hither  about  sunset.  Nuno  saw 
him  when  he  left  his  lodgings  to  make  the  visit,  and  he  told  him 
all  about  it.'' 

"  And  he  saw  me ?"  said  Olivia.     "  Where  was  I  ?" 

"In  the  summer-house,  Senorita  !"  was  the  voluntary  reply 
of  Juana,  who  had  been  eagerly  waiting  to  speak. 

"It  is  a  mistake  !"  said  D»n  Baltha/ar — "  He  was  not  here. 
1  tell  you,  ^  it  is  altogether  a  mi-take." 

This  \vas  said  with  a  vehemence  meant  to  cover  an  agitatio* 
which  the  knight  could  in.t  otherwise  subdue.  Olivia  beheld  this 
anitatioii  through  the  elll.rt  t<»  roiuval  it.  His  asseveration  went 
for  nothing  particularly  as  Leonora  insisted  that  Don  Philip  had 
deelari-d  the  fact  to  her  husband,  only  la-t  night,  ainl  after  the 
former  had  made  his  speech. 

"It  i-  Impossible  I"  Slid  Don  Baltha/ar,  in  a  manner  meant 
to  silence  all  further  diseu-s-.m  ;  but  the  malignant  element  in  the 
bosom  of  the  slave,  Juana,  was  not  prepared  to  suffer  him  to 


340  VASCONSELOS. 

escape  thus  easily.  She  could  not  suppress  the  grin  of  malice 
from  her  features,  as  she  hastily  replied : — 

"  Oh  !  yes,  Senor;  Don  Philip  was  certainly  here ;  and  was 
at  the  summer-house.  I  saw  him  when  he  was  leaving  it.  It 
was  there  he  must  have  seen  the  Senorita.  You  came  out  of 
the  summer-house  just  after  Don  Philip  had  gone." 

"  I !"  exclaimed  the  Don  with  troubled  aspect — "  I !" 

"  You,  Senor !"  cried  Olivia,  rising  and  striding  across  the 
interval  that  separated  her  from  her  uncle — while  her  eyes,  dilat 
ing  beyond  their  orbs,  were  fixed  upon  him  with  an  expression 
of  mixed  agony  and  horror. 

"  You  ! — yov  ! — were  you  in  the  summer-house  last  evening — 
you, — when  I  <yas  there  !" 

He  was  sii«nt  ....  Juana  supplied  the  answer. 

"  Yes,  my  lady — the  Senor  went  to  the  summer-house  after 
he  had  dined.  But  it  was  dusk  before  I  saw  Don  Philip.  I  did 
not  see  Don  Philip  when  he  came,  but  only  when  he  was  coming 
down  the  steps  of  the  summer-house,  and  was  going  away;  and 
I  was  quite  frightened  to  see  his  face.  He  looked  like  a  man 
that  was  going  crazy ;  and  O  !  how  he  did  groan  !  I  heard  him  ! 
I  was  quite  afraid  to  go  near  him." 

'*  What  did  he  here  at  that  hour !"  cried  Don  Balthazar,  furi 
ously — "  How  dare  he  intrude  upon  my  privacy ! How 

dared  you " 

He  was  arrested  in  his  speech  by  the  action  of  Olivia,  who 
suddenly  pressed  closer  to  him,  so  as  almost  to  touch  him,  her 
hands  clasped  together,  and  with  such  a  look — so  like  madness, 
in  her  face — that,  involuntarily,  the  uncle  recoiled  from  her,  and 
the  words  died  away  upon  his  lips. 

"  Oh  !  you  have  done  your  worst  now !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
see  it  all !  I  know  it  all !  Fiend  and  monster  as  you  are, — you 
feel  it,  too,  do  you  not !  You  see  it !  You  will  burn  for  this  ! 
Your  rages  shall  be  endless  !  There  shall  be  no  drop  of  water 
for  your  tongue !  There  must  be  a  hell,  if  it  be  for  your  use 
only !  There  must  be  devils,  if  it  be  only  for  your  torture ! 


THE   SCENE   CLOSED.  341 

Oh  !  do  not  start,  and  recoil  !  I  will  not  harm  you  !  Daggers 
would  be  no  punishment  for  such  crimes  as  yours.  Hell !  hell 
only!  Hell!  hell!  hell!" 

She  dasped  her  head  with  both  her  hands,  and  reeled  about 
dizzily.  Leonora  caught  her  in  her  arms  in  time  to  save  her 
from  falling  upon  the  floor.  She  was  in  a  swoon  !  It  cai; 
sonably  to  save  her  from  madness.  We  close  the  scene.  Let 
us  suppose  that  Leonora  clung  lovingly,  and  nursed  heedful!) 
her  suffering  friend ;  and  that  Don  Balthazar  fled  from  the  pros 
ence  which,  with  all  his  brutal  heartlessness  of  character,  he  dared 


CHAPTER    XX  V  II  I. 

"  I  8 wear 

To  dedicate  my  cunning  and  my  strength, 
My  silence,  and  whatever  else  is  mine, 
To  thy  commands." 


SHKUJTY. 


DON  BALTHAZAR  fled  into  the  recesses  of  the  thicket,  and 
buried  himself  amid  dark  ami  savage  thoughts. 

"  He  knows  all,  indeed  !"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  felt  him 
self  alone.  "  Where  was  that  scoundrel,  Mateo,  that  he  did 
not  slay  him  before  this  !  But  for  those  bungling  algua/ils  ! 
they  have  marred  his  purpose.  I  forgot  to  warn  them,  and 
hence  all  the  mischief.  But,  if  it  were  necessary  that  I  should 
have  him  put  out  of  the  way  before,  it  is  trebly  necessary 
now  !  He  knows  too  much  !  lie  could  blast  me,  at  any  mo 
ment,  by  his  speech !  He  must  die !  She  must  die  !  It  is 
now  the  only  means  of  safety  !  Oh  !  would  it  had  been  done 
the  very  hour  that  I  resolved  upon  it!  I  should  have  done  it 
with  my  own  hand,  if  I  had  only  dreamed  of  this  danger.  I  was 
mad,  blind,  oblivious, — a  very  dolt, — not  to  see  that  his  exist 
ence  was  perilous  to  my  safety! — Hers  too!  But  I  must  be 
heedful  in  this  matter.  It  will  not  do  here.  It  will  not  do  till 
I  am  gone.  Then,  I  shall  contrive  it.  1  will  send  her  olHo  the 
country.  She  shall  depart  as  soon  as  she  is  fit  to  travel.  Sylvia 
shall  see  to  the  rest.  It  shall  be  done.  For  him!  ah!  how 
shall  I  manage  that?  Shall  it  be  here?  Shall  it  he  in  Florida  '? 
Here,  best,  if  Mateo  can  contrive  it;  but  in  Florida  it  will  be 
quite  as  easy.  He  has  no  followers; — few  friends!  If  he,  is 
found,  with  a  knife  in  his  bosom,  it  is  by  the  hand  of  the  red 
man  that  he  dies  !  Who  will  doubt?  None  !  and  he  must  die  ! 
That  is  settled.  It  is  his  life  or  mine  !  Would  I  could  see  that 
scoundrel  Mateo !" 

The  devil  is  said  to  answer  promptly  whenever  he  is  called. 
The  person  invoked  stood  the  next  moment  before  the  Don. 

"Ha!  Ha!  You  want  Mateo,  do  you? — the  scoundrel 
Mateo! — well,  you  see  him,  I  hope.  lie  is  here,  and  not  so 
much  a  scoundrel  as  some  that  wear  much  better  reputation." 

The  reckless  outlaw  laughed  irreverently  at  his  own  sarcasm. 
He  felt  his  securities.  Perhaps,  he  would  have  even  ivli>hed  a 
hand-to-hand  struggle  with  the  knight;  but  he  seemed  to  enter 
tain  no  hostile  purpose,  and  stood  quietly  confronting  him.  look- 
ing  good-humored  enough,  considering  the  genuine  feelings  of 


TUK    DKVIL     ALWAYS    AT    HAM).  343 

hatred    which   he-    felt   fur  liis    superior.       Don   Balthazar    was 
not  a  timid   man, — was   not    easily   startled   bv    any    event  or 
presence, — and    certainly    had   no  fears   of  any    individual    : 
but  the  appearance  of  the  outlaw,  so  apropos  to   his  sumn 
brought  up  to  his  mind   a  vamie  image  of  the  satanic  piv-> 
wliicli,  in  fact,  was  the  true  meaning  of  his  requisition.      It  is  t Ik- 
hellish  agent  which  we  summon  always  when  we  doign  a  hdlisli 
1.     Don  Balthazar,  however,  welcomed  the  fugithe  al'vr  hi- 
own  fashion,  with  the  air  of  a  master  who  knew  his  right-*,  and 
had  reason  to  complain. 

"  V i »u  an;  here  at  last!     But  you  have  done  nothing.      5T< 
promised   finely!      Where   are   your   performance*?      Had    \«>u 
done  according  to  your  pledges,  I  had   been  -uved  from  a  v< -r\ 
unpleasant  affair !" 

•'  Had  I  done  ! — and  who  is  to  blame,  I  beg  to  know,  that  I 
have  not  done?  You  make  a  bargain  with  me.  and  when  1 
about  to  do  my  work,  I  find  your  algua/.iis  upon  my  heel-. 
Your  algua/iK  bearing  your  orders  to  86tte  and  bind  me.  and 
have  me  properly  d rosed  tor  the  honor-  of  the  (j<iroi>  «•//  !  Ah! 
indeed!  The  yarote  vil  for  \  our  own  ally  the  man  \\lio  is  to 
risk  his  life  doing  \  our  bu>iness  !  What  do  YOU  sav  to  that  .'" 

-  What  do  I  say  !      Why.  that  the  tiling  was  whoik  a  mistake. 
The.  rascate  did  not  understand  me." 

"A  mistake!  Oh,  it.  would  have  been  precious  consolation 
to  me,  with  my  neck  fitted  with  an  iron  cravat,  to  hear  that  it 
was  done  wholly  by  mistake!  1  had  as  lief  die  by  the  law.  as  by 
mi-take,  any  d 

"  I  tell  you  that   the  algua/ils  were   ordered   after  you, 
I  had  -poken  with  you  ;   I  only  forgot  to  M€  and  -peak  to  them. 
and  they   continued    the  search    in   consequence.      But  1    will  put 
D  to  their  pursuit." 

"Oh!    \  ou  fttrwi  only  !      But  that  wa>   -t  range  on  \  .  -ur   part. 
You're  too  much  a  man  of  bu-ine--  to  forget  -ueh  iliinus  in  . 
mon.      But  you'll  remember  tnnr.  you   -.i\  ;   and  I'm    to    be  pur- 

Slled    no    in, 

*  JTeS!    I  -hall  se,-  to  it  this  very  day  ;    but    you    are  to  do   the 

'   U-ille»    Noil    Undertook    >" 

i  !    that  bu^in. 
'1       .      ..u    \\ill    ,li>poM-  of  this  kniirht    of  IV.rtu^al.   tkt 

••nd  him   to  C,,d  b\-  a  qui<  li 
anoe?     You  are  .  '     y,,u   ^\\\  ,,,,    V(,ur 

"  Afrai-i  :      (  i.  no]       I'm  not  afraid  of  y.ur  al-_r  I  \-   tor 

my  eiigageiiu-nt.-.  that    \\ill    depend    upon   the    \\a)    you 


844  VASCONSELOS. 

keep  yours.     I  don't  see  that,  so  far,  you've  leen  very  keen  to 
remember  them." 

"  You  make  too  much  of  this  forgetful  ness  of  mine." 

"  Oh  !  you  may  forget  again  !  I  never  trust  a  bad  memory; 
not  even  my  own.  See  this  handkerchief;  there  are  three  knots 
in  it.  Every  one  marks  a  life.  This  is  one  I  put  in  it  when  I 
engaged  with  you  to  send  Don  Philip  by  a  short  cut  to  para 
dise.  You  must  knot  your  handkerchief  too,  before  I  take  this 
knot  out  of  mine." 

Don  Balthazar  received  the  suggestion  rather  literally.  He 
coolly  took  out  his  handkerchief,  and  proceeded  to  knot  it ;  but 
the  outlaw  laughed. 

"  Look  you,  Don  Balthazar,  the  man  who  can't  write,  makes 
his  knot  in  the  handkerchief;  but  that's  not  the  rule  for  you. 
You  must  make  your  knot  on  paper,  with  pen  and  ink ;  and 
there  must  be  a  great  seal  to  it.  Get  me  the  pardon,  under  the 
hands  of  the  Adelantado,  for  all  past  offences ;  that's  one  knot 
you're  to  make.  Prepare  me  the  paper  that  proves  mine  and 
Juana's  freedom,  and  when  you  give  me  these,  I  shall  take  out 
my  knot  nere,  and  Don  Philip  will  fly  off  to  join  the  angels  in 
paradise ;  that  will  save  you  from  finding  him  in  your  way 
hereafter." 

And  the  fellow  chuckled  greatly  at  his  own  wit.  •Don  Bal 
thazar  was  not  so  well  pleased  at  these  requisitions. 

"  But,  when  I  have  got  you  these  papers,  what  security  have  I 
that  you  will  do  what  you  promise  for  me  f ' 

"  Security  !  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  your  security  will  be 
quite  as  good  as  mine.  What  security  do  you  give  me,  when  I 
have  slain  Don  Philip,  that  you  will  do  for  me  what  you  have 
promised  ?" 

"Slave!  Do  you  count  the  word  of  a  nobleman,  and  a 
soldier,  as  of  no  more  value  than  that  of  a  mestizo  and  an 
outlaw  ?" 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  Senor ;  that  sort  of  talk  won't  do  between  us  ! 
It's  you  that  are  the  outlaw,  not  me  !  I  am  to  kill  Don  Philip 
on  your  account,  not  on  mine ;  because  you  hate  him,  and  not 
from  any  hate  that  I  bear  the  Portuguese.  Were  I  to  kill  him  on 
my  own  account,  /should  be  outlawed  :  killing  him /or  you,  it's 
your  act,  not  mine,  and  you're  the  outlaw  !  Don't  speak  to  me 
as  if  there  was  any  difference  between  us.  There's  none,  I  tell 
you,  but  what's  in  my  favor!  I  think  myself  a  much  better 
man  than  you  any  way.  I  don't  get  other  people  to  fight  my 
battles,  or  avenge  my  wrongs — there's  where  I'm  the  better 
man  ;  and  as  for  strength  and  skill  with  the  weapon,  why,  I  could 


WHICH    16    THE    OUTLAW?  346 

slit  your  throat  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  before  you  could 
mutter  an  ave" 

Thus  saying,  he  flourished  his  naked   machete   in   fearful   pro\. 
unity  t<>  the  knight's  face.     The  cheeks  of  the  Don  flushed  crim- 

:id  he  liastily  drew  his  sword  half-way  from  the  sheath. 
M  Oh!   put  Up," said  the  outlaw,   "  it's  no  use— and  be-id 
not  i  ..     I'm  not  going  to  kill  you;  and  if  I   were,  you 

could   do  nothing  to  help   yourself.      I   wouldn't  give   you   the 
est  chance.     I'd  be  into  you.  and  through  you,  before  you 
could  get  your  toledo  oof   of 'the  scabbard.     I'm  none  of  your 
I'm,'  knigi.  -tile  and  Portugal,  to  let  you  put  :  just 

in  your  own  attitude  to  light;  all  that  seems  to  me  only  foolish:. 
Here's  my  enemy,  and  I'm  to  kill  him.  If  I  don't  kill  him.  he 
kills  me.  "  Now.  *I  don't  want  to  be  killed,  just  yet;  and  I  rather 
lie  vh.uild  .IK-  than  me!  What  thei:  >  Will  I  give  him  a 
chance?  N'..t  a  bit  of  it  !  I'll  slit  his  throat  without  saying, 
•  l»\  Y.uir  lea\e.  Befior.1  And  it'  it  was  my  profit  to  slit  yours, 
I'd'  have  done  it  \sithoul  all  this  palaver.  Don't  be  af 
We're  mi  t»Tius.  |"YC  a  contract  with  you  ;  and  I'm  willing  to 
wi.rk  tor  YOU.  on  conditions  Hut  you  mu-t  get  down  from  the 
.  hen  you  -peak  to  me.  1  can't  bear  to  be  ridden 
p  by  any  Don"  that  ever  came  from  Spain!  and  1  won't! 
The:  .  you  know  me.  I-  it  a  thing  cl-ar  between  Ds1 

\V  me  the  pardon,  the  tree  papers,  with  the  b 

Slt,,/i\  kill  the  knight  of  Portugal  for  you  .'" 

••  You're 8  bold  fellow.  Mateo; — it's  a  bargain  !" 
••  Very  -.rood.      When  shall  I    have   the   paper-  .'      I  mu-t  have 
thei  .nd  to  -how  ;    f.»r  I  HOP,  and  mu-' 

•  to  read  them  for  me,  to   866    that    a  K  fore    I 

do  my  share  in  the  bu-ii 

hard  in  your  condition-.  MateOJ    but  YOU  -hall  have 
your  own  way.      M.-i-t    me    here,   at    this   hour,  tw 
and  YOU  -hall  have  the  pardon  and  the  j.ap 
>r  ;    I'll  be  punctual  to  the  - 

When  the  tw--  I.  the  knight   ;  .  ilmost  imme 

diately.  '  into   the  ei:y  ;   the  outlaw   .I 

peared  wiihin  the  I  Don  I>altha/ar  did  not  return  to  the 

haeienda  that    night.      In   his    place.    Olivia    had    another   visitor. 
He  Sylvia  -lept.  .luan;i  conduetcd  her  brother  10  the  chamber 
of   lier    ;  The    latter   appeared    fcoexped   him;   slu- 

July  not  un|»r»'pared  t'-r  lii>  oomi 

i-  surprising  to  beliold  her  rountenance.   as  the  I... Id   «»ut- 
law  entered  tlie  chamber.      Wl.  bred  tliat 

derful  composure — that  strength  of  calm — so  suddenly  I — after 


346  VASCONSELOS 

the  overthrow  of  her  hope  and  pride,  so  terrible  and  so  recent] 
— after  that  wild  compulsion  which  seemed  to  have  racked 
equally  the  body  and  the  soul,  how  had  she  so  soon  and 
thoroughly  recovered]  In  the  utter  wreck  of  her  pride,  her 
sensibilities  seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  blunted.  She 
had  the  look  of  one  who  felt  nothing.  There  was  not  in  her 
countenance  the  slightest  show  of  'suffering.  Her  eyes  were 
strong  in  their  glare, — not  sad.  The  muscles  «,f  her  mouth 
betrayed  not  the  slightest  emotion.  She  looked  like  one  .>f 
those  wretched  persons  whom  we  sometimes  encounter  in  society, 
who  grow  prematurely  wise— who  never  know  youth  or  child 
hood — who  spring,  at  a  single  bound,  into  manhood,  and  the  full 
possession  of  their  minds ;  and  who  do  so,  in  almost  all  « 
at  the  expense  of  their  hearts — nay,  to  the  utter  death  and  burial 
of  their  hearts  !  Such  premature  development  always  makes 
monsters.  The  look  of  Olivia  was  that  of  one  whose  heart  was 
utterly  dead  within  her,  and  who  has  survived  and  forgot U  n — if, 
indeed,  she  ever  knew — its  loss.  It  was — to  sum  up  in  a  word 
already  used— all  stony!  The  calm  was  that  of  death — the 
eomposure,  that  of  insensibility — not  apathy  !  Yet  there  was 
life  in  her.  There  was  a  new-born  energy  working  within 
her  soul.  That  had  survived  the  heart — had  acquired  its 
strength — only  in  the  utter  annihilation  of  the  hope,  if  not  the 
affections.  These  still  lived,  however; — but  in  what  manner? 
We  shall,  perhaps,  see  as  we  advance;  but  they  were  not  now  to 
declare  themselves  in  the  ordinary  way.  a*  is  the  ca-e  with  tlio-e 
who  do  not  live  to  denial — who  still  indulge,  if  not  in  hope,  in 
dreams — in  delirium!  Olivia  had  her  purposes  still ;  and,  through 
these,  her  lingering  and  blighted  atFection>  were  still  destined  to 
exist,  and  work  ; — but  she  had  no  more  feminine  emotions.  The 
blissful  though  deceiving  reveries  of  her  woman  heart  were  all 
at  an  end  !  There  were  now  no  delicious  fancies,  tripping,  like, 
nimble  servitors,  in  obedience  to  thought,  or  will  ;  bringing  gay 
colors,  and  creatures  of  the  element,  to  beguile  her  saddened 
moods.  Fancy  had  been  stripped  of  all  its  wings — ruthlessly 
stripped — and  life  now  crept  on  like  tin*  worm  deposited  beneath 
the  preeioiis  flowers,  to  which  it  can  no  longer  fly.  But  the 
worm  ^till  had  life;  and  a  will,  which  continued  to  incline  in  th': 
direction  of  its  former  fancies.  Olivia  de  Alvaro.  we  repeat, 
DAS  still  a  purpose, — whether  of  hate  or  love  we  ha\- 
learn  !  Kiiongh,  that  it  is  the  purpose  of  a  broken  heart, — well 
knowing  how  complete  has  been  its  ruin. — how  utterly  ' 
is  its  condition — how  dr.-ad  its  humiliation, — how  unrelieved 
by  solace,  whether  of  mind,  or  nearc,  or  soul.  She  is  withou* 


A    NKW    M  VST  Kin.  847 

\  .-upurpo-e!    AndlAof  purpose t  We  sbaU 

proceed. 

\\hatever    it    i-.    she  pursued   it    willl  such  enemies    as    H 
never  in-fore  displayed  iii  the  prosecution   of  any    object.      Thev 

thi'    stron^cst-\\iiled    peison   of  the 

other  sex.      She  bends  her  \\hole   soul    upon    tlie    ta-k.      Sh. 
chides    all     fears,    all    douht-.    fr»»m    consideration — everything 
which  may  impair  her  efforts.      iYrhaps.   we    should    rather 
that,  feeling  a-  -he  does,  \\<T  soul  is  no  jo:  -iM<-  to  f 

She  has  endured  the  la-t  sorrow,  and  the  worst  ;  and  death  ha- 
no  terrors,  in  a  sea-i>n.  \\hcii  lite  i-  not  "idy  withrr.it  hope.  Ian 
without  inspiration  of  any  kind.  She  wrought,  nevertl 

dedicated  to  duty  ;   a-  one.  too.  to  whom  the  strength  C 
phvsical  and  spiritual,  onlv  with  the  dutv  !      An  h»ur   had  made, 
her  a  nt  w  person;  and,   with    the    di  fn   fiv-h 

imp.  bas  no  time  for  sorrows.     Sorrows!     Ili-w  should 

tear-,  or  wailin^s  even,  or  prolonged    watching,    i^ive    testii; 
to  -ndi  a  woe  a-  h'T-  !      To  have  been   eapabh-    ot'  either   wouhl 
havi-  implied  verv  inferior  sen-iliiliti  -mailer   derive   of 

heart  and  sulVerin«r ! 

A  ni^ht  of  stunning  and  strange  sensation  . 
to  afllict  the  hotly  than  the  mind,  and  shestood  up.  a  i, 
With  the  dawn  -he    foiunl    hei^df  employed. —  ;ictive.    \\atelitul. 
vigilant. — sju-akin*:  tew    words,    l.ut    firmly.  -  allowing   no   i|iie-- 
tious. — willing,  and  Causing  to    he   done,    according    \»  her   \\ill! 
, I uana.  now  honestly  prepared  to  serve,   was  put   in  requisition, 

and  kept   Imsy.      At  nielli  she  wa-  re.|iiiretl.  a  io    lirin«r 

her  l.rollnT.  the  outlaw,  to  the  chandler  of  her  mi-ti'e--.  \\'hcn 
there,  the  latter  had  tew  word-,  hut  thev  exhibited  !r-r  in  a 
wholly  new  attitude,  to  1-oth  hmther  and  -i-tcr.  -luana  -he  dis- 
••<!  to  another  chamber.  Knun  Mateo.  now  alone  with  her, 
she  demanded  an  account  of  hi-  inier\i«  w  with  Don  Baitha/ar. 

Ele  revealed  its  purport — all!     Olivia  listened  \\ithout  se.min^ 
ion.     \\  hen  he  was  do  id  . 

M  1  have  piv-umed  on  your  fnlei:  '  •  ot  lie 

will  not  !      I  am  willii-  V€  \  •  -u.       5fou 

too  much  of  a  man  to  deceive  me.1' 

••  liy  t'n  I   Virgin  1" — he    l.e'.Mii. 

"It    dor-   Hot    Heed.    Mat.o.    lh;it    \.  .       \  Will  \>< 

-hall  work  for  me,  an«I   -hetl  n«»  Moo.!  !      '1  lu-re  is  your  p^1 
.  \\lii.-li  1  h-ive  proMire.l  f  >r  you  tlir-»'i--!i   tl  l-ahell^^ 

and  •  the  paper,  which  makes  you  and  .luana  f 

no  I«MI«:IT  slaves  of  mine.      Takt-  them,  aim  th-'ii  li-t'-n  t«>  what  I 
have  you  do." 


348  VASCONSELOS. 

The  outlaw  fell  at  her  1'  <1  IKT  hand,  and  coverea  u 

with  kisses.     She  withdrew  it,  indifferently,  without  emotion. 

"  Enough,"  she  said  :  "Enough!  How  lonu'.  Mateo.  will  it 
take  you  to  procure  me  a  supply  of  the  foots  ft.r  making  the 
tawny  brown  dye  of  the  mountains  .'" 

"I  can  get  you  any  quantity,  Sefiora,  in  a  short  twelve  hours/' 

"Be  it  so.     You  mu>t  set  out  for  it  as  soon  as  I  dismiss  you.1' 

Juana  here  peered  within  the  chamber,  l>ut  the  lady  motioned 
her  away,  and  then,  in  a  whisper,  gave  Mateo  some  oilier  instruc 
tions.  Her  manner  was  calm.  resolute,  emotionless  wholly  ; 
her  words  elear,  though  whispered  ;  her  purpose  made  fully 
evident  to  his  understanding,  though  at  present  it  is  withheld 
from  ours.  He  argued  with  her  purpose,  but  in  vain.  He 
finally  submitted  ; — Juana  was  called  in.  and  her  brother  hur 
riedly  disappeared.  He  returned  by  noon  of  the  next  day.  and 
brought  her  the  roots  of  a  native  dye.  such  as  she  required.  He 
had  other  trusts  to  execute,  which  kept  him  actively  employed. 
Meanwhile,  Juana  kept  diligent  watch.  The  espionage  of  Sylvia 
was  baffled  ;  and,  more  than  once  during  the  day  and  night, 
Mateo  penetrated  the  dwelling  in  safety. — sometimes  \\itu  a 
package,  beneath  his  arm  ;  sometimes  with  only  certain  tidings 
on  hi>  lips.  He  wrought  submissively,  beneath  a  will  which  it 
was  neither  his  policy  nor  his  desire  to  disobey.  Meanwhile, 
his  eyes  filled,  rough  and  savage  as  lie  was.  as  h.-  g;t/ed  upon 
Olivia,  and  remembered  that  it  \vas  by  his  agency  that  her  pride 
had  received  its  fatal  blow — to  sny  nothing  of  her  hope — in  the 
terrible  moment  when  Philip  de  Vasconselos  had  entered  the 
summer-house.  But  lie  dared  not  make  this  confession. 

"Yet,  how  could  I  help  it  ?""  ijuoth  the  outlaw,  to  himself,  by 
way  of  apology.  "  lie  had  saved  me,  had  served  me.  and  was 
a  noble  gentleman.  Then,  I  knew  her  only  as  the  kin  of  that 
scoundrel,  Don  Balthazar!  Vet.  I  wish  it  had  not  been 

The  regret  was  unavailing,  but.  it  strengthened  the  desire  in 
the  heart  of  the  outlaw  to  serve  her  faithfully  in  all  tlnii: 
it  softened  him  to  survey  her.  so  wholly  changed.-  -a  \s>.m;m  no 
longer, — stern,  inaccessible,  hopeless,— --having  but  one  idea  ; 
and  that — he  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  thought  of  it.  lint  h" 
was  forbid  to  argue  it  again. 

"  I  have  heard  of  such  thing-  before  ;  but.  afhr  all,  it\  only  a 
sort  of  madness!  She  will  break  down  in  it.  or  break  out, — aud 
that's  pretty  much  ihe  ^une  thing. — and  then  it's  all  over  with 
her!  Oh!  it  is  so  pitiful!  and  she  so  young,  so  beautiful,  ami  of 
such  a  great  family  !  Jttjium'n^  !  How  I  should  like  to  cure 
all  the  trouble,  it' it  could  be,  done,  by  making  three  cuts  witi» 
my  machete  on  the  black  heart  of  that  monster,  I)OM  Baltha/ar' 


A    NEW    MYSTERY. 


849 


I  Would  make  a  cross  for  him  .should  cross  him  out  forever  ! 
Well,  let  her  break  down,  and  I  shall  do  it  yet  !  //>  can't  buy 
me  now,  at  any  price.  But  1  shall  sell  him'  at  just  what  price' I 
!  Who'll  huy  on  these  terms  i  Who  /  Why  the  devil, 
to  be  sure  !  Who  "W  7" 


CHAPTER    X^viA. 

Soffn,  rhe  poco 
Ti  riinane  a  soffnr.     Non  ti  spaventi 

I/aspotto  del  la  pens  :  il  inal  prpgiore 

E  ih;'  ina'i  il  timor."  / 

IT  required,  in  fact,  no  effort  on  the  part  of  Don  Balthazar  U> 
procure  tin'  pinion  of  Mateo,  the  outlaw,  froio  the  hands  of  the 
Adelnntado.  He  had  only  to  place  the  paper  before  him,  with 
a  crowd  of  other  papers,  for  signature,  and  the  sign-manual  was 
set  down  without  scruple  or  examination.  This  was  the  usual 
process.  It  was  thus  that,  at  the  entreaty  of  Olivia,  the  Lady 
Isabella  had  already  procured  the  pardon  of  the  mesti/o  ;  and 
thus  it  was  that  the  affair  had  escaped  the  knowledge  of  the 
knight.  In  neither  instance  had  I  )e  Soto  been  made  aware  of 
what  he  had  done,  and  Don  Balthazar  was  thus  naturally  kept 
ignorant  of  the  peculiar  interest  which  his  niece  had  manifested 
in  the  outlaw,  and  of  her  intimacy  with  him.  He  was  utterly 
without  suspicion  in  this  quarter  :  the  consequence  of  his  impres 
sion  of  her  ignorance  of  atlairs,  and  of  her  utter  indiil'eivnce  and 
apathy  upon  most  subjects.  The  pardon  procured,  the  1  )oii  pre 
pared  the  legal  discharge  of  Matco.  and  his  sifter,  from  the  ser 
vice  of  his  ward.  lie  signed  tiie  latter  papers  as  her  guardian, 
and.  as  usual,  without  consulting  her.  Tin-  deed  of  emancipa 
tion  which  she  had  prepared  was.  in  lact,  void,  in  consequence 
of  her  minority  ;  and  this  wa^  quite  as  well  known  to  Mateo  as 
to  h-Tsclf.  But  it  was  understood  between  them  that  he  was  to 
keep  aloof  until  >he  should  reach  mafun'fv.  when  he  could  boldly 
defy  the  uncle.  The  parties  did  not  deceive  themselves,  or  one 
another;  and  though  the  discharge  of  Olivia  was.  lor  the  pres 
ent,  of  less  value  than  that  of  Don  Baltha/ar.  still  Matco  much 
preferred  to  receive  tin-  boon  at  her  hands,  though  of  questiona 
ble  validity,  than  to  incur  any  obligation  at  the  hands  of  a  p»  i><>n 
\\liom  he  meditated  to  murder  at  the  first  decent  opportunity. 
Arm.-d  with  the  desired  papers.  Matco  did  not  think  proper  to 
k'-i-p  his  engagement  with  the  Don.  lie  was  to  have  met  him 
in  the  thicket.  \\heiv  we  have  already  beheld  their  inter\iew. 
bu!  t!i.-  knigiil  waited  i'»r  him  in  vain;  and,  after  Ihlgering 
f'-r  ;'.n  hour,  b -coming  impatient,  he  took  his  wa\  towards 
the  si  miner  hoii-e,  and  thence  proceeded  to  the  dwelling.  He 
little,  dreamed  that  the  per>on  lie  hoped  to  see  was  closely 


SECRET   PURPOSES.  861 

following  and  observing  all  his  movements.  So  was  Juana. 
Mateo  had  counselled  the  latter  carefully  on  certain  points, 
and  the  watch  maintained  by  one  or  the  other  of  them  left 
no  single  proceeding  of  Don  Baltha/ar.  when  at  home,  unno 
ticed  !  While  at  the  summer-hou-e.  the  1  )«m  had  diverted  him 
self  of  the  papers  with  which  he  had  propo  ed  to  meet  tile  out 
law.  As  it  was  in  this  neighborhood  that  he  still  calculated  to 
encounter  him,  he  thought  to  have  them  always  rea.lv  by  leaving 
them  there.  He  fastened  them  up  securely  in  a  huge  chest 
which  he  kept  in  a  closet,  lint  Mateo.  who  watched  all  his  steps, 
soon  wormed  his  way  into  tin-  closet  and  the  chest.  He  wa.s 
armed  with  a  bit  of  iron  wire,  his  machete,  and  a  small  drill  and 
mallet;  and  it  was  surprising  \vith  what  rapidity  he  persuaded 
locks  to  give  up  their  secret^.  Suehi>  the  advantage  <>f  being  in 
high  practice,  wherever  the  artsaiv  eoneenied.  The  worthy  outlaw, 
however,  did  not  immediately  possess  himself  of  tin-  documents 
of  the  Don.  For  the  present.  In-  wa<  content  to  know  where 
they  were  hidden.  He  preferred  tft?tt  their  loss  slmuld  in.: 
discovered  until  the  last  moment,  when  the  Don  should  be 
ready  for  departure  to  Florida,  and  he  to  hi<  native  moun 
tains  lb-  had  much  yet  to  do  in  Havana,  and  did  not  can 
be  disturbed  again  by  the  algua/.iK  while  pursuing  his  pleasant 
occupations.  He  continued  in  the  employment  of  Olivia;  and 
her  present  purposes,  steadily  pursued,  with  a  mind  now  pro. 
foundly  concentrated  on  the  one  object,  found  him  i-nosiirh  to  do. 
Hut  there  wa>  a  slight  interruption  in  t'leir  intercourse.  In  . 
rytngOUt  his  purpose*.  Don  Baltha/ar,  as  we  have  >een.  had  re- 
d  to  si-ud  liis  niece  to  the  plantation, — the  hacienda. 

country-seat  of  his  ward  at  Matelo* — where  her  larg. 

chiefly  lay.      Thi>  was  in    order   to  hi*    own    security,       II    re,    he 

might  b.-*t  pr  :inst  her   peace — perhaps  her  life.      I! 

she    would  be  removed    from  frequent  association  with  the  Ladv 
••ila.  who  had  taken  a  gn  al«-r    Interest   in  her  happinos   than 
lialth-j/ar  cared  to  >ee.  or  to   ,n  Sli,.    \\a-   to    • 

cecci  t !ii;  1.-  '•  under  thecond 

•nl  whom  Don  Haltha/ar  wa-  not  unwilling  that 
ia  sh-'iild  marry.  \)<-  Sinolar  was  his  creature. — silly  crea 
ture.  -  and  weak. — who  feared  the  Don, 
and  whom  the  laf  i  ma-k  to  Belter  hi.- 
o\\h  .  'iild  wed  with  DC  Sinnlar.  <!ie  mi<_'ht 
live;  and  the  latter  w  dlowed  BVerV  opportunity 
winning  his  \\-a\-  to  her  favor.  1  )on  llaiiha/ar.  however,  fia'l  now 
but  little  liope  of  thi>.  '  I  utter  d.  -j-air  of  the 
knight  of  Portugal,  aud  the  jl  which  his  o 


352  VASCONSELOS. 

cruel  conduct  hud  occasioned.  The  expedition  once  departed, 
carrying  with  it  Don  Philip,  and  the  uncle  was  satisfied  to  trust 
somewhat  to  time.  Time  might  effect  his  object,  and  if  not — 
the  dagger  !  This  latter  remedy  was  to  he  entrusted  to  Mateo; 
unless,  indeed,  Sylvia  should  prove  herself  as  expert  with  the 
bowl  as  her  predecessor,  Anita,  had  been. 

According  to  these  plans,  Olivia  was  suddenly  apprised  that 
she  was  to  travel  that  very  day  under  the-  escort  of  De  Sinolnr. 
She  was  silently  submissive.  She  was  not  allowed  words  of 
parting  with  her  friends,  the  Lady  Isabella,  or  the  fair,  frail  wife 
of  Nuno  de  Tobar.  To  this  also  she  was  reconciled.  She  had 
no  desire  to  see  either.  She  had  survived  friendship.  M«'iv 
society  had  no  attractions  for  her,  and  nothing  compensative, 
She  lived  but  for  a  single  purpose,  and  this  was  of  a  nature  to 
be  rather  helped  than  defeated  by  her  removal  from  the  city  ; — 
that  is  to  sav,  bv  her  seeming  or  temporary  removal.  She  was 
prepared  to  go, — but  her  secret  resolution  was  taken  to  return; 
and  that,  too,  before  the  sailing  of  the  expedition.  \Ve  shall  see. 
hereafter,  in  what  manner.  Don  Balthazar  was  rather  surprised 
at  her  submission.  He  had  expected  a  struggle.  But  she  heard 
hi>  requisition  with  a  cold  indifference,  and  answered  it  with  a 
single  word  of  resignation. 

"  1  am  ready  now !" 

He  was  surprised,  and  said  something  about  her  friends. 

"  Would  you  not  desire  to  see  and  part  with  the  Lady  Isa 
bella, — with  Leonora  de  Tobar  f 

"  No  !      What  are  friends  and  friendship  to  me  ?" 

"  It  might  be  done  in  an  hour.     It  were  proper,  perhaps." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  see  them/' 

"  Well,  as  you  please!  You  can  see  them  as  frequently  as 
you  think  proper  after  I  am  gone.  Indeed,  as  Leonora  will  re 
main  in  Cuba,  you  might  have  her  as  your  guest/' 

Olivia  was  silent.     The  uncle  proceeded  : 

"  De  Sinolar  has  gallantly  undertaken  to  be  your  escort,  and 
you  can  command  his  services  during  my  absence,  in  any  mat- 
t.-r  in  which  you  may  need  assistance.  He  has  kindly  volun. 
leered  his  ^ood  ojliec-s.  1  have  given  him  instruction.11 

•-  Whrn'doi-s  the  expedition  sail?"  she  coldly  inquired. 

-•  \Viihii;  l  wo  days.  We  are  all  ready,  and  the  wind  promises 
to  be  fair.  ' 

She  a-ked  no  more. 

"  When  we  separate.  Olivia,  it  may  be  forever!  I  go  upon 
an  expedition  of  great  peril.  T  may  never  return.  Do  you  for- 
•:ivo  me,  child1?" 


ADVICE   TO   A   WOOER.  853 

A  terrible  scorn  rose  into  her  stony  ga/e. 

"Forgive  !"  she  exclaimed — '•  Forgive  !— a*k  it  of  the  Lrh"-1 
of  my  murdered  happiness; — at  the  grave  of  iny  wronged  inno- 
•f  the  hope  \\hich  \oii  have  l-anMied  from  m\  In-art  for 
ever;  of  all  that  I  was,  ami  mi-lit  have  U-eii.  and  am  not  !  A-k 
it  not  of  mo,  as  I  am,  Don  Ualthaxar.  lost  1  curse  vou  with  a 
doom  ! " 

"  \Ve  are  now  to  part  !  IVrhaps  never  again  to  meet.  Mv 
!'ifo  is  honooforth  to  be  one  of  ouiMant  peril.  You  may  hear  of 
me  as  a  viotim  to  tlie  darts  and  tiery  tortures  of  the  Apalaoliian  ! 
Will  you  not  forgive  me,  Olivia  I"1 

"  I'lay  the  hypocrite  with  me  no  longer.  Do  1  not  know  that. 
in  your  soul,  you  scorn  the  very  prayer  for  forgiveness  whii-h 
your  false  lips  utter'  Hence!  letter  that  we  should  Loth 

forget!    So  long  as  1  can  remember,  it  is  not  possible  to  forgh 

And  little  more  was  spoken  between  them,  ere  tln-y  separated. 
I  )e  Sinolar  soon  made  his  appearance.  Tlu-  vehicle  wa<  packed, 
and  stood  in  readiness  at  the  door.  Don  Haltha/ar  conferred 
privately  with  I  )e  Sinolar. 

"You  will  havo  her  pretty  m;i.-h  under  your  own  eye  at  the 
hacienda.  You  will  have  her  to  your-.-lf.  Plav  the  bdd  lover, 
it'  you  would  succeed  with  >iich  a  woman.  .Mak«-  her  \oiir  own 
at  every  ha/ard.  '1'he^-  Knights, ,f  Poi-tu-ral  once  g.-n.'.  >h«-  will 
show  herself  less  cov." 

I).-  Sinolar  curled  his  mou-tache.  and  irrinned  gratefully 

u  \  flatter  my<.-lf.   s»-ft..r " 

"Pooh-pooh!  Don't  tlatter?/o^/-.W/;  man  !  Flatter  h>  r  !  The 
man  who  perpetually  flatters  himself  olK-nds  ever\  Ito.l v.  This 
is  your  fault.  It  is  in  the  way  of  your  own  BU 

Th.-  carpet  knight  wa<  a  little  discomfited  j,y  thisal.rupt  «f 
1'iit  he  coiiti'ivi'd  to  conclude  his  sentence,  and  succeeded    in  say 
ing  that  he  flattered  himself  In-  should  tinallv  succeed  in  flattering 
her;   and  so  they  parted.      It  was  luit    halfa  day's  journev  to  the 
haei.-nila.       We    find    ix.thiiiLT    to    inteiv-t    u-  'alo'ni:    tli 

the  wit  and  humor  of  Do  Sinolar  an  •   whi.-h  U 

ethereal  to  keep.  <-r  tOO  heavy  to  lu-  l.oriie.  and  <^  ia  could  0 
li-.'--n.  and  did    ii"'    r.-ply  to   his  gallantries       Hut    we    must    n/.t 
f.-r^.-t  that  .hiana  aee,>m|,a!iii-d    her  mi-tre^.  and  that    Mafeo.  on 
a  line  hone,  hov.-n-d  alonir  tin-  track,  k.-.-pini;   i|h.  |i;ir(y  in  -i^ht. 

l.ut  l.eini:  himself  unseen.     It  \va-  some  consolation  'to  ()!i\ia. 

that    Sylvia  was  no   lonif.T   li,-r   uuardian.      Th  r 

dreamed  that  >lie  was  .levtined  to  follow  her;    ha\i:  A,-jit 

back  ,e  the  final  instructions  of  her  master  in  re- 

gpect  to  his  victim. 


364  VASCONSELOS. 

The  hacienda  of  Matelos  was  reached  in  safety  about  dusk. 
Olivia,  pleading  fatigue,  dismissed  Don  Augustin  to  hi>  own 
abode,  which  lay  contiguous,  on  an  adjoining  plantation.  She 
retired  to  her  chamber  for  awhile,  but  it  was  not  long  Uf>iv 
Mateo  made  his  appearance.  Certain  signals,  previously  agreed 
upon,  announced  his  arrival  to  Juana,  and  he  was  stealthily  con 
ducted  by  that  damsel  to  the  chamber  of  her  mistress.  Olivia 
was  sitting  with  hands  clasped,  and  eyes  fixed  upon  a  picture  of 
the  Virgin  which  hung  upon  the  wall  opposite,  when  the  outlaw 
entered  the  room.  She  at  once  rose. 

"You  are  true,  Mateo,  and  I  thank  you.     You  must  nov 
the  horses  ready." 

"Ah  !  my  lady,"  said  the  outlaw,  "  I  have  been  thinking  you 
can  never  stand  this  trial.  It  is  a  hard  life  you  propose  to  under 
take.  You  will  never  have  the  strength  for  it.  You  do  not 
know  the  toil,  the  danger.  You  will  surely  sink  under  it ;  you 
will  perish,  and  there  will  be  no  one  to  help  you." 

"  I  shall  need  no  help,  Mateo ;  and  if  1  perish,  it  is  only  an 
end  of  a  long  and  terrible  struggle." 

"  But  why  engage  in  this  struggle,  Seiiorita  1    Of  what  avail '?" 

"The  easiest  form  of  death  is  in  the  struggle,  Mateo.  Do  not 
argue  with  me  now ;  I  am  resolved." 

"But,  I  must  argue,  dearest  mistress — I,  who  know  what  are 
the  toils  of  such  a  life,  day  by  day,  on  the  back  of  a  hoi 

"You  forget,  Mateo,  that  my  father  taught  me  how  to  ride; 
that  1  have  been  a  horse-rider  from  my  childhood,  over  the  rug- 
geilest  mountain  passes.  I  fear  no  steed  that  was  ever  bridled. 
My  poor  father,  you  remember  him,  Mateo  ?" 

"  Ah  !  my  lady,  do  I  not?  Had  he  lived,  1  should  never  have 
been  a  bad*  fellow  ;  never  been  an  outlaw, — never  shed  human 
blood." 

"  Well,  as  he  had  no  son,  he  made  a  boy  of  me,  and  taught  me 
the  exercises  of  boyhood.  He  showed  me  the  uses  of  the  match 
lock  and  the  CroaB-bOW,  Until  Icea-cd  to  fear  the  shock  and  the  re 
port  of  fire-arias,  and  could  bring  down  the  mountain  eagle  with 
my  arrows.  Ifeive  grown  into  the  woman,  hut  1  have  never  lost 
the  spirit,  nor  the  practice,  which  he  taught  me.  Toil,  trial,  dan 
ger,  have  n<>  tears  for  me.  I  am  bolder  and  braver  now  than  eve'- 
Do  you  have  no  apprehension^,  my  Lr""d  Mal«-o;  for  there1  is  t.haf 
in  my  soul  now  which  makes  me  laugh  at  dan. 

The  outlaw  continued  tc  expostulate,  when  sh.-  abruptly  anc 

sternly  silenced  him. 

"  Have  you  not  sworn  to  serve  me.  Mateo,  without  question 
ing  1"  she  demanded,  with  an  air  of  calm  authority. 


RESOLUTION"    OF   DESPAIR.  355 

"  And  havo  T  not  dono  so.  dearest  lady  1  I  will  still  do  as  you 
require,  it'  you  command  me;  but  I  would  entreat  you — would 
show  you  what  it  is  that  you  propose  to  encounter  and  to  under 
take." 

'•  No  more  !      You  mean  well  ;   but  \«>u  know  not.      Von 
ill  vain.      I    a:n    resolved!      My  life  is'on  it,  Mateo!      I    live 
'«>»•  '  bjecl  only,  and  this  exeeuh-d.  1  shall  <;ladlv  lav  down 

\ny  lite.      But  while  1   do   live,  1    must    thus  work,  thus  toil,  thus 
.  lite,  and  know  life  only  in  this  peril.      If  there  he  storm  and 

:'.-.  and    battle— ay,  blood— it   is  even   BO  much  the  better.      1 
can  now  bett.-r  endure,  the  tempest  than  the  calm.      It   is  in   this 
ealm.  that   I    can   encounter  a  thousand   terrors  worse    than  anv 
i  may  bring." 

lie  would  have  still  entreated,  but  she  spoke  deeidedlv. 

•  No  more  !      1  tell  you,  I  am  resolute  as  death.      I).,  as  I  ,-om 
man  •  tell  me  that  you  \\iil  do  nothing     I  will  then  seek 

some  >.-rvant  who  thinks  himself  le<s  wise,  and  proves  more 
faithful.'' 

with  me.  dear  Seiiorita.      I  am   not  wise, 
and  1  am  faithful.      None   can   be    more  so.      It  is  beeau  e  of  my 

love  for  you " 

i-li.   Mateo;   I   ,1,,  not  doubt  your  fidelity  ;  and  to  any 
other  woman. — to  a  woman  in  :<-telu'd  ease  than  mine, 

your  Counsel  would  be  s.-n-ible  and  proper.  Hut— von  know' 
perhap-,  Mateo — but  mine  is  not  the  common  tate  of  woman! 
If  you  knew  my  misfortune,  you  must  know  that  I  am  doomed 

a«rony  while-  i  Live;   and  that  toil,  and  piu^-al  ; 
and  death  itself,  have  no  t<  h   as   1    mu>t    inJvitablv  en 

dure  in  life  !      I  h  .  red  !      Let  me  hear  if  1  ma>   hop' 

further  h«-lp  from  you]" 

The  bit:  tear  inhered  ill  th"  eye  <,f  the    J7-       .  he    l.M.ked 

into  her  sad.  wan  faee.      Shr  w;i-  ;    and  the  inten&a  >pirit- 

..learn    ^om    ln-r  e\  es   almost    tilled    him  \\ith   terror.      j; 
should  sueh  a  j;laiv.—  surh  a-i  expression—gleam  forth  from  Mieh 
•ifiil.   sn.-h  diildlik.  ould   Mich  a    resolution 

tnfori 

i-  fudit   for  you.  a   thousand   tim 
but  I'm  ready  to  do  what  you  a-k.  and  \\hat  I  p: 
-  D"  it.  then!      \Ve  have 'lilt!,-   time   to   lose.      !  and 

e   the  li.-: 

^nd  ill   silence.       Tile  holers   W-  .^tdv 

and  xiu.  was  apprised  of  it.  .     (»;,,  l: 

sllr!  '  «k  .iowii  bef  re  the  image  of  nna, 

then  rose  with  a  step  of  tlnmie.s>  and  walked  'forth  into  the  grove 


356  VASCONSELOS. 

where  the  saddled  steed  was  in  waiting.  It  was  an  hour  short  of 
midnight.  The  stars  were  few  in  lu^vn.  The  gusts  swept,  with 

a  sad  soughing,  through  the  woods, and  -Denied  filled  with  mourn 
ful  and  warning  voices.  Tim  ear  of  the  outlaw  was  sensible  to 
the  souncs,  and  his  more  superstitious  nature  held  them  to  be 
ominous.  But  Olivia  seemed  not  to  hear  or  heed  them.  She 
wrung  the  hand  of  Juana  in  silence, leapt  into  the  saddle,  and,  fol 
lowed  by  Mateo  on  horseback  also,  she  turned  once  more  in  the 
direction  of  Havana.  •  Juana  remained  behind  to  plead  the  indis 
position  of  her  mistress,  and  baffle,  for  awhile,  the  curiosity  of  De 
Sinolar. 

The  wayfarers  rode  hard  and  fast.  In  alow  and  seemingly  un 
occupied  hovel  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  we  find  Olivia  safely 
housed  before  daylight.  The  place  had  been  selected  and  pro 
cured  for  her  by  Mateo,  agreeably  to  previous  instructions.  There 
was  a  rude  couch,  upon  which  she  rested  for  awhile.  But  not  long. 
She  was  soon  up  and  busv.  Mateo  was  summoned,  and  was 
promptly  in  attendance. 

"  Are  all  the  things  here,  Mateo?" 

"  You  will  find  them  in  that  box,  my  lady." 

"Have  you  prepared " 

"  Every  thing,  ISefiorita.  I  have  done  all ;  I  am  ready  for  all 
things  :  but  O  !  my  ladv,  it  is  not  yet  too  late/' 

"What  do  you  fear,  Mateo?" 

"Everything  for  vou.  Sefiorita — nothing  for  myself.  Nay, 
if  you  will  believe  me,  1  would  sooner  cut  for  you  the  throats  of 
a  do/en  such  villains  as  Don  Baltha/ar,  than  see  you  go  on  thU 
tearful  business." 

"Nay,  Mateo,  I  wish  no  throats  cut  for  me!  Still  less  that 
of " 

"Oh!  if  you  would  only  listen  to  me.  Seiiorita." 

She  answered  with  a  strange  smile,  and  so  calmly,  that  he  was 
disturbed  by  the  very  repose  of  her  voice  and  manner,  as  it  ar 
gued  a  resolution  so  utterly  immovable. 

"  Well,— what  would  you  say.  Mateo?" 

The  poor  fellow  could  only  repeat  what  he  had  so  idty  urged 
already. 

"Say,  my  ladv,  say? — Why.  1  would  say  that  you  know  not 
what  it  is  you  are  about  to  undertake  and  undergo!  'I  hat  you 
are  not  fit — not  strong  enough! 

"Is  it  fatigue,  pain,  peril,  loss  of  life,  the  agony  of  wounds? 
I  am  prepared  for  all  these  !  Mu>i  1  repeat  1o  you  that  1  should 
gladly  welcome  either,  or  all.  of  these,  if  I  could  lose  those  hor 
rors  which  oppress  me  now  !  Liorrors  !  but  if  y<-u  know  not ' 


VISION    OF    OLIVIA.  857 

"  But  if  you  arc  discovered  ?" 

"  Ah !  that  is  the  terror !  that !" — after  a  pause  :  "  But  I  must 
brave  it!  I  tell  you,  Mateo.  1  cannot  remrin  here  !  I  cannot  sur 
vive,  thus!  I  must  extort  from  new  griefs,  troubles,  privations 
and  .landers,  such  excitement  as  >hall  obliterate  the  past  !  I 
know  not  what  you  know,  of  my  cause  of  agony  ;  but.  1  suspect, 
Mateo.  that  YOU  know  enough  to  under-tand  that  1  ran  fly  to 
nothing  worse,  in  the  -hape  of  woe,  than  I  have  already  had  to 
meet!  If  you  know  this,  be  silent!  If  you  are  prepared  to 
serve  me  faithfully,  be  submissive  !  Let  me  have  no  further  en 
treaty." 

••  The  Virgin  be  with  you,  my  dear  lady,  and  bring  you  help  and 
-in -cor!  I  go  to  do  all  as  you  have  commanded." 

With  these  words  he  left  her.     She  Hosed  and   fastened  the 
.loop  behind  him;  and,  for  a  while,  stood  wheiv  -he  had    been 
speaking;   wholly  absorbed  in  thought;   looking  like  a  statue  ra- 
iher  than  a  breathing  woman  !     Tlu  n   >he   spoke,  half  in  pra;. 
half  in  soliloquy  : 

•'  Ay  !  the  B;'e-st.d  Virgin  !  Succor!  Succor  !  I  surely  need  her 
help  !  Would  ;-he  have  come  sooner  !  (  Mi  !  how  wild  the  path 
way  seem-  before  me!  What  clouds,  how  torn  !  How  Hitting 
wit'h  the  wind:  and  what  a  crowd  of  Hianging  and  frightfi, 
peets!  They  drift  along,  with  the  force  Of  the  tempest,  which 
thev  vainlv  otl'erto  ivsi>t  !  \»w.  they  cry  to  one  another  for  help 
and'  succor  !  Hut  they  disappear,  even  as  they  cry.  swallowed  up 
in  the  fearful  void,  and  making  way  for  other  forms  and  a-p--ct-! 
Th.-re  is  no  >un.  no  moon,  no  -tar-  ;  but  there  is  a  light  as  from 

the  eyea  of  death;  sepulchral  and  filled  with  myriads  of  floating 

spectres!      What  ran  it  mean!      Where  am  I  1      What  do  I 
All!   these   are    Ilernan   dc   S«.t".  and   his   troops   an.lfolSow.-r-! 
That     is    \uiio  de    Tobar  :    yonder    ride-—  (  Mi!    how    my     i 
loathes  him   as  he   rides  !  -  and   yonder  is      nh  !    Kles-ed  Virgin, 
it     is    mv-elf  I    gee!      But    th<-   -peetre   lives    and    moves. — and 
serves!      It  is    Don    Philip   that    charge-  away    in  front — away1 

.iway  !   and lee,  how  the   boy  follow-*  him!      All!....'' 

Tin-  highlv  wrought  and  febrile  condition  of  Olivia's  brain, 
mu-t  account  for  her  apparent  vi-ion.  in  which -he  sees  the  known 
and  tin-  conjectured  ;  in  which  -he  minutes  a  pa-t  knowledge  with 
her  own  future  puipo-es.  The  madnc-s  la-ted  but  for  a  brief 
space!  She  -remcd  -uddcnly  to  recover,  and  sank  upon  her 
knee-  brfoiv  the  i  ma<_re  of  t  he  V  i  mi  n.  She  now  prayed  inaudi- 
bly  ;  then  rose.  calm. — ri^id  rather  in  every  mu-de,  and  then  pro 
ceeded  to  unfold  the  content-  of  trunks  and  oh  f  with  the 
view  of  making  her  toilet.  Let  n-  h-ave  her  to  this  performance 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

"  I  have  surely  s^en  him  : 
His  favor  is  familiar  to  inc. 
Boy,  thou  hast  looked  thyself  into  my  grace, 
And  art  nyne  own." 

CYMRKIJNE. 

THE  eighteenth  day  of  May,  in  the  year  of  grace,  one  thou 
sand,  five  hundred  and  thirty -nine — more  than  three  hundred 
vears  ago  ! — was  marked  with  a  white  stone  in  the  calendar  of 
Don  Hernan  de  Soto  ;  for,  on  that  day,  his  squadron,  eight  large 
vessels  (small-sized  schooners  of  our  days),  a  caravel  (a  sloop) 
and  two  brigantines — things  with  scarce  a  dork  at  all — sailed  from 
the  noble  harbor  of  Havana,  with  their  prows  turned  oust  in  the 
direction  of  the  opposite  coast  of  Florida.  Hut  it  was  rather 
late  in  the  day  before  they  took  their  departure;  and  though 
the  armament  had  been  supposed  in  readiness  several  days  he- 
fore,  yet,  when  the  time  came,  there  were  many  things  that  re 
quired  to  be  hurried.  Of  these,  the  Adelantado  had  his  share: 
and  Don  Balthazar  more  than  his  share;  all  needing  to  be  at 
tended  to,  and  sped.  But,  of  the  cares  of  these  great  personages. 
we  will  say  nothing  in  this  place.  They  scarcely  adeot  our  nar 
rative.  We  shall  confine  ourselves  to  those  of  Don  Philip  de 
Vasconselos,  chiefly  ;  and  relate  how  he  was  provided  with  a 
Moorish  page,  almost  at  the  last  moment,  and  on  the  most  Jibe, 
ral  terms. 

The  sun  was  just  warming  the  tops  of  the  Cuban  mountains, 
when  the  good  knight  was  summoned  to  the  entrance  of  his  lodg 
ings,  to  hearken  to  an  unexpected  visitor.  ThU  wa<  no  oilier 
than  our  old  acquaintance,  Mat eo.  the  outlaw.  Don  Philip  waf 
on  the  alert,  and  was  not  found  napping  even  at  that  early  hour. 
He  was  busy  brushing  up  his  armor;  condensing  hi*  wardrobe 
into  the  smallest  possible  compass  ;  preparing  his  steed  and  fur 
niture;  for  transfer  to  one  of  the  caravel*  where  a  place  had  been 
appointed  him;  and  adjusting  his  affairs,  in  general,  fur  thai  re 
moval  which  had  now  become  inevitable. 

Don  Philip  met  the  outlaw  with  a  grave,  but  gentle  welcome; 
spoke/and  looked  him  kindly  :  and  asked  what  he  could  do  for 
him.  The  ^i^ht  of  the  features  of  the  Portuguese  knight,  seemed 
to  occasion  some  difficulty  in  the  -pe<  eh  of  the  outlaw.  The 
sadness,  approaching  confirmed  melancholy,  which  his  face 

(858) 


359 

and  whicn  the  tones  of  his  voice  so  well  expressed,  reminded  Ma 
teo  of  many  matters,  and  in  particular,  of  one  very  terrible 
in  which  he  had  beheld  the  brave  cavalier  wounded  to   th"   v.-i-y 
soul  ;  crushed,  as    it  were,    into    the   earth,  and    partly    by    his 

•lilies.  The  whole  scene  came  back  to  both  parti 
they  met  ;  and.  as  the  gloom  darkened  on  the  visage  of  Don 
Philip,  the  mind  of  Mateo  became  agitated  and  <'onfiiscd.  in  a 
way  wholly  unwonted  with  the  rough,  wild,  half-savage  charac 
ter  of  the  Mestizo.  But  he  plucked  up  resolution  to  ivply.  and 
in  tones  as  simple  and  unconstrained  a-  po>-,ible. 

"Well,  Seftor,  it's  not   so  much  what   you  can  d,>  for   : 
what  I  can  do  for  you! — You've  been  wanting  a  pauv   or  squire, 
Sefl"r."  said  the  outlaw,  "and  you  haven't  1:0*  on,-  \ 

-  It  is  true,  Mateo.     I  did  not  like  the  looks  of  any  that  were 
brought  me.     Can  you  help  me  to  one?     Do  you  know  I " 

'•1  can  provide  you  with  a  Page,  Seflor;  not  a  servant;  a 
yonn^  lad.  a  kinsman,  a  nephew  of  my  own  ;  brown  like  < 
but  the  child  of  a  free  woman  of  the  mountain^  ;  who  ha  -  heard 
of  you,  and  would  like  to  see  a  little  of  the  world,  and  of  ar 
mies,  under  such  a  brave  leader;  but  he  can't  be  bought.  li.-'s 
•i  of  a  free  woman.  Scfior.  as  I  tell  you,  and  will  serve  you 
for  love,  not  for  money;  and  will  bring  his  own  horse.  and  pro 
vide  his  own  means;  and  will  only  expect  to  be  treated  kindly. 
and  to  be  taught  the  art  of  war  ;  and " 

"  Will  he  submit — will  he  obey  me  f 

itainly,  as  a  page,  Seflor:  and  will  b<  0  do  so.     I 

can  answer  for  all  that.  Seflor.  lie  will  do  for  you.  I  am  sure, 
as  no  bondman  would  ever  do — will  be  faithful  always — and  be 
very  triad  when  you  employ  him.  for  he  is  pleas. >d  with  you. 
9efi  .  -he  has  seen  you  oft. -n.  and  admires  yui  very  much! 

He  lonirsto  go  with  you,  and  hasn't  let  me  rest,  forth 

for  urging  me  to  come  to  \  <»n  and  make  the  o|]l  r.  lit-  don't 
want  pay  -  he  has  means  of  his  own.  as  I  told  you  :  his  moth 
er,  a  free  woman  of  the  mountain-.  Seflor.  has  property  : 
and  horses;  and  though  the  b«»yis  quite  younn.  and  slightly 
built,  yd  he  ha-  health  and  strength,  and  ran  stand  a  ijonc!  deal 
of  trouble  and  fatigue  ;  ali  he  wants  is  to  l>c  with  you  ; — that  is. 
\var  under  vour  lead; — and  a-  !,  :i  of  a  free  wo 

man.  Seflor.  I  thought  it  ri_«:h*.  perhap-.  that  he  should  h;:\ 
\d  should  learn  1'rom  the  best  tea. 

••  I'.rini;  him    to  me.   M 

••  He  ia  bere  at  b  I  lid  no;  \\eil  keep  him  away,  Scft» 

He  U 

Here  the  outlaw  t  '  .mt-nt  from  the  lodge  ot 


860  VASCONSELOS. 

the  knight,  and,  stepping  down  to  the  highway,  he  gave  a  slight 
halloo.  In  sight,  stood  a  boy  holding  a  stout  and  spirited  steed. 
He  approached  at  the  signal,  leading  the  horse.  When  he  drew 
nigh,  the  knight,  who  had  retired  into  the  lodge  for  a  moment, 
reappeared,  and  gazed  steadily  upon  the  new-comer 

"  Let  the  boy  fasten  the  horse  to  yon  sapling,  Mateo,  and 
draw  nigh,  that  I  may  have  some  talk  with  him.  He  has  a  fine 
horse^Mateo." 

"  Yes,  Sefior,  I  raised  him  myself.  He  walks  like  the  wind, 
and  will  go  like  an  eagle  to  the  charge.  Suppose  you  step  out, 
and  look  at  him  closely,  Seflor.  You  must  love  a  fine  animal, 
Sefior,  and  this  is  one  for  a  brave  man  to  love,  without  feeling 
ashamed  of  his  clioice." 

How  the  heart,  already  vitally  sore,  applies  the  most  remote 
allusion  to  the  cause  of  its  secret  suffering!  This  casual  remark 
of  Mateo,  smote  on  the  sensibilities  of  Philip  de  Vasconselos, 
like  a  sneer.  But  the  face  of  Mateo  was  innocent  of  any  occult 
meaning;  and  Philip  showed  that  he  felt,  simply  by  an  increased 
solemnity  of  voice  and  visage.  He  followed  the  outlaw  out  to 
where  the  horse  stood,  still  held  by  the  boy  in  waiting.  The 
first  regards  of  the  knight  were  given  entirely  to  the  steed. 

"  He  is  certainly  a  very  fine  animal,  Mateo.  You  do  not 
praise  him  more  than  he  deserves." 

"  Sec  what  a  chest  he  carries,  Seflor,  broad  like  a  castle.  See 
what  legs,  so  clean,  so  wiry.  There's  not  an  ounce  of  fat  to 
spare  from  those  quarters.  There's  not  a  long  hair  that  you'd 
like  to  pull  out  from  those  fetlocks.  And,  look  at  his  eye  ! 
It's  like  that  of  a  great  captain !  Cortez,  I  warrant,  does  not 
open  a  finer  when  he  looks  down  from  the  towers  of  the  Mexi 
can.  See  what  a  mane  of  silk  !  It  is  like  the  hair  of  a  Princess. 
And  he's  young,  but  a  quarter  over  four,  Sefior  ;  and  he  comes 
of  a  breed  that  lasts  till  forty." 

'•  Unless  no  shaft  from  an  Apalachian  savage  cuts  him  short;" 
was  the  remark  of  Vasconselos,  sadly  made,  as  he  turned  to  be 
stow  a  look  upon  the  boy. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  new  interest  springing  into  the  eyes  of 
Philip  as  he  gazed.  The  boy  was  of  fine,  dark  bronze  complex 
ion,  looking  more  like  the  native  race  of  Indians,  tlian  the  Mes 
tizo  cross,  from  which  he  was  said  to  have  sprung  :  he  was  well 
made,  and  symmetrical  ;  with  good  limbs  and  much  i^raee  of  out 
line,  lint  Vasconselos  dwelt  not  so  much  upon  the  form,  as 
the  taee.  of  the  vouth.  Thi>  >eerne<i  t<»  rivel  his  attention  ft  I 
awhile.  And  the  effect  of  his  <ja/e  was  to  disquiet  the  boy  him- 
telf,  and  Mateo,  his  uncle.  The  former  closed  his  eyes,  involub- 


THE   BASHFUL   PAGE.  361 

tarily,  under  the  steadfast  glance  of  the  knight;  and  the  outlaw 
hurriedly  said  : 

"The  lioy  is  bashful,  Se-fior  :  he  lias  never  before  stood  in  tho 
ptv-ener  of  a  great  captain,  or  a  knight,  or  even  a  fife  Lr'-ntle- 
man.  He  is  from  the  mountains,  as  1  -aid,  and  don't  know 
about  the  line  behavior  oi'  a  young  man  of  the  city,  who  is  al 
ways  expected  to  look  Uj>,  you  know,  as  if  he  was  born  to 
sav  to  the  sun  —  'stop  a  little  —  I  must  talk  with  von.'  N 
Juan  -  " 

".I  nan  ?—  Is  that  his  name  C' 

"  "l  es,  .1  uan.  Sefior  ;  his  mother's  name  is  Juana,  u  free  woman 
of  the  mountain*.  Sefmr  --  " 


••  His   tlnv    n-minds  me  very  much  of  one   that   I   hav 
somewhere.      1  have  certainly  seen  him  before,  Mateo." 

"Never  him,  Seftor,  —  never!"  replied  the  other  sturdily. 
".Juan  has  never  been  to  the  city  before  last  week;  and  you.  I 
know,  have  never  been  into  the  mountains,  Seflor.  11<-  is  a 
mountain  boy,  your  Kxeellenry,  —  son  of  a  free  woman  of  the 
mountains.  He  has  seen  you.  but  you  could  not  have,  seen  him 
before.  Hut  what's  in  a  likeness.  Seftor  1  You  will  see  them 
every  day,  every  where.  1  have  seen  thousands  of  liken.- 
in  my  time,  tor  which  there  was  not  the  slightest  bit  of  rea>on. 
\<>w,  Juan  looks  like  several  people  1  know,  and  you  may  have 
see!)  them.  He  looks  very  like  Antonio  Morelos.  a  civole  of 

Havana,  here.  You  must  have  seen  Asm.  Then,  he  looks  mon 
strous  like  his  mother,  and  >he  has  U  m  a  thousand  times  to  the 
city.  (Hi!  likeiies-e.-  arc  nothing  now.  we  see  >o  manv.  You 
never  could  have  seen  our  .Ii,.  before,  Seftor." 

Mateo  talki-il  rapidly,  rather  than  earnestly,  as  if  again-t  tinu- 
and  the  wind.      Va<con-e!ns    did    not    seem   to   hear  halt'  wh,. 
was    saying.      He   still    kept    an    earnest    eye  upon  the  hoy.  as  if 
deeply  interested  ;   evidently  coinnmiim«!    with    evd-y  1'eatm 
his   lace  —  a-,    far.  that    is    to    sav.  as  he  was  allowed  to  sec  th«'iii. 
I>ut  the  b  -  were  ea-t  do\\n.       //c   saw  nothing;    yet  i'eit, 

«  \idently.  that  the  keen  eye-  of  the  knight  were  upon  him. 

••  'I  he  boy  is  younir.  \  erv  \  oun^,  Mate«>.  .-md  I  verv  much  fi-ar 
will  hardly  be  able  to  stand  the  liiti^ues  of  such  a  campaign  as 
I  hat  wt-  >hall  have  to  endure  in  I'loi 

'     (  >h  !      he     i-     -If'   !  :  are    deceptive.        lie 

conies  of  a  hardy  race.  He  mn  Stand  lire  and  w;i' 

"  Pmt    h.-    Been  8  uni  ''.;:  I.      Art  th"ii  -ure   that   ! 

rouraiir  '      \\  ill  I,  •  ,•  •  d  U  ::   ;    il    '! 

rj  lie  l.oy  seemed  \\er  t'<  r  him^elt'.      He  looked 

up  —  he  looked    1'  and  without  blenchiu; 
L6 


862  VASCONSELOS. 

Nay,  there  was  so  much  of  a  settled  calm — an  unflinching  reso 
lution  in  his  sudden  glance,  that  the  knight  was  struck  with  it. 

"  Certainly,"  quoth  he,  "  that  was  something  like  a  lightening 
up  of  the  spirit.  He  is  capable  of  flashes,  Muteo." 

"  Ay,  and  of  fire  and  flame  too,  Sefior  !  Faggots  !  Give  him 
time,  your  Excellency,  and  you  will  sec  the  blaze.  But  he's 
naturally  bashful  when  you're  looking  on  him.  It's  not  a  bad 
sign  in  a  boy,  Sefior." 

"No,  truly!  But  I  like  his  looks.  Mateo.  There  is  some 
thing  in  those  features  that  please  me  much.  Were  I  smv  of 
the  strength  and  courage  of  the  boy, — his  capacity  to  endure,— 
I  should  not  hesitate  :  I  should  feel  sure  of  his  fidelity." 

"  Oh  !  that  I  can  promise,  Sefior.  He's  as  faithful  to  the  man 
he  loves  as  if  he  were  a  woman." 

"  Pity  but  he  were  more  so!"  responded  the  knight  quickly 
The  outlaw  felt  that  he  had  blundered,  and  he  promptly  strovt 
to  recover  his  false  step. 

"  As  a  woman  is  expected  to  be,  your  Excellency  ;  that's  what 
I  mean!  I  can  answer  for  Juan  ;  for  his  courage,  his  hardihood. 
not  less  than  his  honesty,  Sefior.  He's  a  boy  of  good  princi 
ples." 

"  Let  him  answer  for  himself!  Somehow,  Mateo,  I  am  a  little 
doubtful  of  your  answers.  You  are  too  quick  to  be  quite  sure  of 
what  you  say  !  Hark  ye,  Juan,  are  you  sure  you  desire  to  go 
with  me,  to  Florida?" 

The  boy  evidently  trembled  :  but  promptly  enough,  in  a  rather 
hoarse  voice,  answered — 

"  Yes,  Sefior  !  I  wish  to  go  with  you." 

The  voice  was  a  strange  one,  yet,  its  tones  seemed  to  interest 
the  knight,  as  if  there  was  something  familiar  in  them  also. 

"  He  has  a  very  peculiar  voice,  Mateo." 

"  Yes,  Sefior,  strange  enough  to  those  who  heard  him  only  a 
year  ago.  Now,  his  voice  is  getting  the  cross  'twixt  man  and 
boy.  It's  rather  more  a  squeak  than  a  song,  your  Excel lenev. 
But  1  reckon,  Sefior,  we  all  underwent  some  such  change  about 
the  same  time  in  our  li\ 

Don  Philip.  But,  my  good  boy,  you  don't  know  the  toil  and 
trouble;  the,  daily  marching  in  that  country  ;  where  there  arc- 
no  roads;  only  rank  fore-is.  «rJViit  swamps,  wild  beasts,  deadly 
reptiles;  where,  half  the  time,  you  mav  he  without  food  ;  and 
perhaps,  quite  as  frequently  without  water. 

Juan.  Yes.  Sefmr,  but  if  one  would  be  a  soldier,  it's  a  pan 
of  his  education  to  taMe-  tin  M-  things.  I  am  t  >  be  a  soldier,  you 
Know 


THE    KNIGHT  AND   BOY.  863 

Philip.  True;  but  you  begin  early!  There  is  a  certain 
hardening  nece>sary  before  one  eau  be  a  soldier 

Juan.     This  campaign  will  give  it  me,  Seftor. 

J/i/^o.  You  see,  your  Excellency,  his  heart  is  set  on  being  a 
soldier. 

••  True  ;  but  one  does  not  begin  training  for  it,  in  the  midst 
of  a  campaign,"  quoth  Philip,  not  heeding  the  outlaw. 

Juan.  You  forget,  Seftor,  that  I  was  bred  among  the  moun 
tains. 

J'hilip.  If  you  had  been  bred  upon  the  plains,  my  b<>\\  it 
might  be  more  in  your  favor,  going  to  Florida.  But  you  forget 
the  danger. 

Juan.     It  is  that  of  war,  Seftor,  and  I  am  not  afraid  to  die. 

1'hilip.     So  young,  and  not  afraid  to  die  \   but  you  speak  what 
you  cannot  know  !     Bethink  you  of  the  terrors  of  the  strife  ;  the 
arrows,— his  cannibal  sacrifices, — his  bloody  rages, — the 
scalping  knife, — the  fiery  torture  ! 

Juan.     Yet  you  are  to  encounter  them.  Seftor. 

Philip.  1  am  a  man,  boy.  a<vu^tomcd  to  the  encounter;  and 
life  is  to  me  of  little  worth.  1  have  Mirvivcd  its  hopes. 

Juan.     And  I  have  none,  Sefior. 

Philip.  Thou  no  hopes,  at  a  season  when  the  heart  is  all  hope, 
or  >hould  be? 

Mateo.  Ah!  you  don't  know  Juan,  Seftor.  II. -was  always 
a  saddish  sort  of  boy  ;  loving  the  glooms  ;  the  dark  woods;  the 
loiiclv  rocks  !  He  never  played  like  other  boys  !  He  was  never 
like  other  i 

Philip.  But  he  will  outgrow  this  sadno.s  Mateo.  He  will 
grow  to  hopes.  It  would  be  cruel  to  peril  one  so  \,  ,• 

et,  in  Mich  a  warfare  as  that  with  the  Floridian  savage! 

Juan.  You  allow  nothing  for  the  will,  Seftor, — the  heart — 
nothing 

Philip.      Every  thing,  boy  !  will  and  heart   are    th 
seiitials  of  all  achievement      Can  it  be  that  thou  art  alrea-i 
bitiou 

Mutrn.       That     he     is     \olir      K\eel  leliey.        It's     his     threat     Jolly, 

Seftor;   I've  told  him   so    a    thousand   times.      l''..r  what    can   his 
ambition  do.  for  him.  a  //  :.:m  be  a-  brave  as  1'Yaiiei- 

Pi/arr  1  I>-n:an    (  Wte/.  \\ho'll    giv. 

mand  of  armies  and  authority  in  counsel  .'      Here  am  I  i. 
brave,  7  think,  as    any  man    that    ever    stepped    in    !• 
what  am  I  but  an  outlaw  !   1  don't  think  I'm  wanting  in  a  - 
beli>e  eili. 

Philip.     The  boy  talks  sen>ibly,  Mate",  yet  he  is  very  young 


364  VASCONSELOS. 

Mateo.  If  he  lives  much  longer,  Sefior,  he'll  grow  much  oldor. 
And  if  he  don't  live  long,  he'll  only  be  more  sure  of  being  young 
all  the  days  of  his  life. 

Philip.  Logical  enough,  Mateo ;  yet  I  have  no  \vish  to  shorten 
his  days. 

"Try  me,  Sefior,"  murmured  the  boy,  in  very  low  but  oar- 
nest  tones,  not  daring  to  look  up.  There  was  a  pleasant  change 
in  the  voice,  which  seemed  to  interest  the  hearer.  He  put  his 
hand  on  the  head  of  the  boy,  who  started  from  under  the  touch, 
and  visibly  trembled.  But  Philip  was  not  permitted  to  see  his 
face. 

"  Do  you  not  overrate  both  your  courage  and  your  strength, 
my  boy?  You  start  and  tremble  at  my  touch." 

"  'Tis  not  with  fear,  Sefior  !"  was  the  subdued  reply,  still  in 
the  same  low,  sweet  accents. 

"No  !  For  why  should  you  fear  me,  child  ]  But  you  seem 
naturally  timid — nervous,  I  should  say  ;— and  such  wars  as  that 
we  go  upon,  require  hardihood  above  all  other  things.  There 
must  be  no  agitation  when  the  trumpet  rings  the  alarm.  There 
must  be  no  faltering  when  we  are  bade  to  charge.  The  pane  of 
the  knight  will  be  expected  to  do  good  service,  and  to  follow 
close  after  his  master,  even  if  he  does  not  emulate  him.  Canst 
thou  carry  a  lance,  Juan  ?" 

"  I  am  provided  with  a  cross-bow,  Sefior,  and  can  shoot.  The 
lance  will  come " 

l'  Thou  art  so  eager  for  it,  Juan " 

"  Oh  !  take  me  with  you,  Sefior !" 

"  I  like  thee,  boy.  Thou  hast  something  about  thee  which  ap 
peals  strangely  to  my  imagination." 

And  the  good  knight  sighed  deeply.  His  instincts,  rather  than 
his  memory,  perhaps,  guided  his  asseverations.  The  boy  hung 
his  head  also.  He  dared  not,  at  that  moment,  look  up  in  the 
face  of  Don  Philip. 

"  I  will  take  thee  with  me,  boy,  and  fight  thy  battles,  if  need 
be;  will  keep  thee  as  much  from  harm  as  possible,  and  share 
with  thee  my  spoils " 

"1  ask  nothing,  Sefior  !"  said  the  boy  hastily. 

"  Oh  !  no,  Sefior  !''  quoth  Mateo.  "  My  sister  is  a  free  woman 
of  the  mountains.  Her  son  is  able  to  pay  his  own  way.  He 
wishes  to  go  to  see  service  and  Irani  a  profession,  and  will  share 
no  one's  spoil.  He  hopes  to  make  his  own.  Besides,  my  si-ter 
is  resolute  that  her  son  shall  take  no  pay  for  his  serviees.  Re 
member  that,  Sefior.  She  has  provided  him,  as  you  see,  with  a 
good  horse.  She  has  given  him  a  well-filled  youch  besides!  she 


THE   SAD   MASTER.  865 

has  made  all  provisions  fur  his  support  and  equipment;  and  i 
am  commissioned  to  get  even  the  needful  weapons  and  armor. 
So  you  see,  Sefior,  he  is  to  go  with  you  for  love,  not  for  money." 

"  For  love !"  murmured  the  boy. 

"Be  it  so,  Juan,"  said  the  knight,  taking  his  hand.  "Be  it  as 
thou,  wilt.  Thou  shall  go  with  me,  boy.  Thou  shall  be  my 
companion,  rather  than  my  page.  But  thou  wilt  find  m< 
companion,  Juan — a  melancholy  master.  I  tremble  for  thee. 
besides,  when  i  behold  thy  slight  frame,  thy  timidity,  thy  ten 
derness  and  youth.  We  must  be  true  to  each  other,  Juan  ;  for 
we  go  with  those  who  are  true  only  to  themselves.  We  must 
love  each  other,  Juan  ;  for  in  all  that  assembled  host,  there  will 
be  few  worthy  of  any  pure  heart's  love.  Wilt  thou  love  me. 
boy,  spite  of  my  gloomy  visage,  and  melancholy  moods?" 

"1  will  love  thee,  Sefior — 1  do  love  thee !"  was  the  murmured 
reply,  and  this  time  the  boy  looked  up.  The  glances  of  the  two 
met.  Then  it  was  that  the  knight  saw  how  large  and  expressive 
were  the  eyes  of  the  boy,  and  what  a  soft  and  dewy  brightness 
shone  through  the  dilating  orbs.  But  they  sunk  in  a  moment 
beneath  the  searching  gaze  of  the  knight.  They  sunk,  and  the 
boy  again  trembled. 

"Truth,  Mateo,  he  is  bashful!  But  a  campaign  soon  cures 
that  infirmity.  Well,  Juan,  you  are  mine  now." 

And  he  gave  the  boy  his  hand,  who  kissed  it  passionately, 
murmuring — 

"Thine!  Thine!" 

The  knight  turned  away  to  the  tent  with  Mateo.  the  boy  lead 
ing  his  horse  and  following.  Before  the  dose  «»f  tin-  day,  knight 
and  page  were  upon  the  waters  of  the  gulf",  rolling  forward  in  u 
^ood  vessel  towards  the  gloomy  shores  of  the  Apalaehian. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

"  JKsap.    What  do  we  act  to-day  ? 
LaLinus.  Agavi's  phrensy, 

With  Pentheus'  bloody  end." 

M  ASSIXUKR.     The  liitman  Actor. 

BUT  we  are  not  yet  permitted  to  depart,  and  must  follow,  foi 
a  brief  space,  the  fortunes  of  some  other  of  our  dramatis  persona. 
The  novelist  cannot  do  always,  as  lie  would,  with  his  own  cre 
ations.  He  cannot  linger  always  with  those  whom  he  prefers. 
We  must  suffer  the  Fates  to  exercise  their  controlling  agencies 
just  as  certainly  as  they  do  in  real  life,  and  among  the  living  peo- 
pl*  whom  we  know.  He  may  create,  but  he  cannot  control.  It 
is  upon  this  very  condition  that  he  is  permitted  to  create.  The 
Being,  once  filled  witn  the  breath  of  life,  and  having  made  his 
appearance  upon  the  stage  of  human  action,  must  thenceforward 
conform  to  necessities  over  which  tl:  v  autln  >r  exercises  no  authority. 
These  will  have  their  origin  in  the  character,  the  actions,  and  the 
impulses,  of  his  persons  ;  in  the  events  which  flow  from  their 
performances ;  in  their  conflicts  with  rival  actors  on  the  scene  ; 
in  their  strength  or  imbecility  ;  with  some  allowance  made  foi 
the  operation  of  external  causes,  "which,  we  are  told,  will  always, 
more  or  less,  affect  the.  destinies  equally  of  mice  and  men!  Lot 
us  leave  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  and  the  dusky  page,  Juan,  to  their 
progress  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  gulf,  while  we  follow  the 
steps  of  Mateo,  the  outlaw. 

As  soon  as  the  Mestizo  had  closed  th«'  arrangement,  b)  which 
his  "  nephew,  the  son  of  a  free  woman  of  the  mountains,"  had 
been  secured  a  place  in  the  sorvi.  e  of  the  knight  of  Portugal,  he 
disappeared  from  the  vwinity  of  the  Spanish  encampment.  lie 
had,  we  may  mention,  used  sonic  precautions  when  u  about  town." 
by  which  he  had  kept  his  person  tV-.m  all  unnecessary  exposure. 
He  had  still  some  decent  regard  for  the  existence  of  a  clasx  <,f 
prisons,  the.  Alguaxils.  with  wh-»m  he  entertained  tew  special 
sympathies;  and.  in  leaving  the  lodgings  of  Vasconselos,  lie  had 
stolen  away  into  covert,  by  the  most  secluded  passages.  A  sin 
gle  moment,  in  private,  and  under  the  c<>ver  of  a  dump  <»f  trees, 
densely  packed  with  shrubbery,  had  ^nlViced  for  his  parting  with 
Juan.  There  he  might  be  seen  wholly  to  change  the  manner  of 
speech  and  add  res-  which  he  had  employed,  with  regard  to  the 


THE  on  LAW'S  I'fKi'usES.  867 

boy,  when    the    knight,  his  ma>ti-r,  \\as  a  looker-on.      He  sc' 
his  hand  and  kis-ed    it    repeatedly,  ami  thriv  was  D  e  in 

the  e\piv^i«>n  of  his  face,  and  in  tin-  words  of  his  month,  which 
denoted  the  •  I  •!'  relations,  between  tin-  parties,  very  dif 

feivnt  from  tho>e  which  he  ha-  1-eeii  pi.  a>ed  to  assi-rt  in  the  eou- 
fercii'  e  \vhicli  has  been  reported.  (.)n  leaving  the  l>oy,  he  eon- 
eluded  with  a  promise  to  see  him.  and  the  good  knight  of  I'oi- 
tngal.  at  the  shore,  in  the  moment  of  his  embarkation. 

M  It  inav  be.''  he  <ai«l.  -' that  I  >hall  follow  you — nay.  go  with 
you,  to  the  country  of  the  Apalachian  ;  for  1  long  to  866  great 
things;  and  be  where  the  good  knights  ru.sh  to  the  meeting  of 
the  ^.ears  !  It  may  be!  \Ve  vhail 

\Yhen  they  had  'separated,  and  while  Mateo  pur>ucd  his  way 
through  the  woods,  alone,  his  lips  opined  in  frequent  soliloquy. 

uoth  he.  "were  it  not  for  that  devil  of  all  the  devils, 
Baltha/ar  de  Alvaro,  1  should  follow  the  expedition.  1 
would  take  lance  under  this  good  knight.  1  would  light  like  the 
best  among  them.  He  hath  n-»  f«>!lower>;  but,  \\ilh  me.  he 
should  have  at  least  live.  1  am  a-  <:«  •<  ,d  as  any  five  of  these  men 
with  the  cro<s-b<,w.  And  would  1  not  have  a  Lr<><>d  IHTM-  of  my 
O\MI  .'  worthv  to  be  >traddled  by  any  eavalier  in  ])mi  1  Ionian's 
arm\  \  Ah!  it  would  be  glorious!  IIow  1  should  Miiite  ! 
Yeri!^.  I  have  a  >trciigth  in  my  arm.  and  a  skill  with  h»>rsi- 
\\rajM.n.  that  would  show  where  blows  are  thickest.  I  could 
clear  the  track  with  a  sweep  !  And  1  am  a  younn  man.  ami  in 
m\  h«->t  strength.  It  is  hard  that  1  >hou!d  have  nothing  nival  to 
do!  Ver;  hardl1 

And   hi>   speed    \va^   aooel(  md  his  arm  could  b< 

wavinir.  a-   if  he  were  about    to    make  a  inigl  ^>tl»  tin- 

broadsword. 

"  But  I  dare  not  go.  while  that  black  wolf  is  with  the  army  ! 
He  hath  an  eye  t«.  Bee  through  me.  He  hath  already  known  me 
in  a  di>gui>e  \shieh  had  ballled  the  eyi-s  of  my  oun  >i>t«-r;  and, 
fii,i:;Lr  tn  do  for  him  this  murder  of  the  good  knight,  he  would 
have  iw  ijumtteil  without  a  srruplc!  Would  his  tliroat  wei'e  cut  ! 
I  have  half  a  mind  to  slip  «>fV  wiih  th  i  put  my  knife  into 

him.  the  first  dark  night  lie  walkfl  alone.  \Vere  I  now  to  meet 
him.  1  would  slay  him  !" 

lie    felt    in   hi>  girdle  f..r  his  muchttt.  and  locked  uj».  and 
.n<!  him.  with  ularii  .nd    di>tendc-d    no-tril.    afl    if  al- 

:v  ^iiKfling   the  •  hed  by  an  eiu-my.      lii;: 

Till  and  «juief  wir  re  h-'  walked,  •••'    ong  tile  th 
clininL'  to  the  hill-.  >urhs.     It  v  a>  >till 

the  cool  of  early  morning,  Jind  the  \shole  realm  of  uuture  around 


568  VASCONSELOS. 

him  seemed  to  murmur  of  repose.  The  inanimate  life  of  the 
forest  declared  no  unrest — no  unruly  passions, — no  wretched 
discontent.  The  sky  was  now  beautifully  clear,  and  if  a  voice 
was  heard  besides  his  own,  it  was  that  only  of  some  very  tiny 
bird,  such  as  harbors  only  in  the  stunted  shrubbery,  where  a  sin 
gle  leaf  will  afford  instant  and  close  shelter  for  its  form.  But  the 
very  repose  spoke  to  the  violent  passions  of  the  outlaw,  with  a 
stimulating  accent. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  he,  "  if  I  only  had  him  here  !  "  and  he  clenched  his 
fist  savagely. 

"  But  I  must  get  those  papers  !  He  will  be  in  the  camp 
soon  to-day.  He  will  be  among  the  last  to  sail.  In  an  hour,  he 
will  have  left  the  hacienda.  But  may  he  not  return  to  it,  in 
the  hope  to  see  me,  and  to  learn  that  I  have  done  his  work? 
Perhaps  ;  but  hardly  !  He  will  scarce  have  time !  Humph ! 
Done  his  work!  I  must  do  my  own!  Verily,  if  I  meet  him 
there,  I  will  do  it  thoroughly  !  Shall  I  cut  throats  exeept  to  my 
own  liking?  By  the  Blessed  Devils,  no  !  I  will  cut  his  throat 
if  I  can !  And  if  1  do,  what  is  to  keep  me  from  the  expedition  1 
I  am  a  man  for  the  wars.  I  will  see  how  the  lances  cross  with 
the  shock  of  thunder.  But  1  must  get  me  those  papers.  He 
little  dreams  that  I  know  their  hiding-place.  When  he  goes  to 
the  city  this  morning,  it  will  be  to  make  ready.  lie  will  hardly 
return  to  the  hacienda.  Then  will  I  take  possession.  Junna 
knows  what  to  do.  When  the  ships  have  all  gone,  she  goes  off 
to  the  mountains.  She  will  be  doubly  safe  with  the  papers  of  the 
Sefiorita,  and  of  that  Uncle-devil.  She  shall  be  safe  !  Then,  if 
1  should  find  him  there,  and  feel  my  way  into  his  ribs.  \ve  are  all 
safe!  Oh!  If  I  should  only  find  him  there!  If  he  goes  on 
this  expedition,  will  my  poor  lady  be  safe  a  moment  1  No ! 
No!  There's  no  blinding  his  snake-eyes!  He  will  see,  and  I 
know  there  will  be  trouble — and  more  than  trouble  ; — there  will 
be  a  great  danger  always  in  the  path  of  the  good  knight  Oh  ! 
it  must  be  that  I  shall  split  his  black  heart  with  my  knife,  and 
let  out  all  its  poison  with  its  blood !  It  must  be,  when  there's 
so  much  good  to  come  of  it — when  there's  no  safety  for  anybody 
while  he  lives  !  I  owe  him  a  stroke  of  my  machete  !  And  if 
the  Blessed  Devils  give  me  half  a  chance,  I  will  pay  him  with  a 
vengeance !" 

We  have  here  the  passions  of  the  outlaw's  soul,  and  the 
plans  of  his  mind,  fairly  mingled  up  together,  in  that  sort  of  web 
of  thought,  which  is  the  usual  mental  process  in  the  sensuous 
nature.  Don  Balthazar,  at  this  moment  little  dreamed  of  the 
danger  which  threatened  him.  While  Mateo,  making  his  way 


THE  I>AX<;I:KS  OF  THE  DON.  869 

to  the  hacienda  of  the  knight,  was  thus  soliloquizing,  the  haughty 

Don  was  savagely  meditatini:.  in  liis  turn,  upon  some  of  the  dis 

appointments  which  he  h:«-i  poed.     That  tin-  Portuguese 

knight  Mill  lived,  was  a  present  aniio\  aiiee,  and  u  vital  da: 
Hi-  now  knew  himself  to  K-  at  the  mercy  of  tliis  cavalier.  BO  far 
a^  his  moral  position  WES  concerned.  *  The  revelation  of  his 
'1  knew,  would  IK-  fatal  to  his  reputation  in  Cul.a. 
;nnl  tin- army  ; — so  ion^  as  the  Lr»v. rnment  of  Mh  was  adminis 
tered  ii\-  persons  B  i\  virtuous  as  he  believed  Don  ller- 
uaii.ii-  Soto  and  liis  nol.le  wit'.-  to  1).-.  True,  he  had  a  certain 

.rity  for  hi-  secret,  in  tin-  very  regard  \vhi.-h  Philij.  do  Vas- 
coiiM'los  fvidrntly  i-utrrtaiiM-d  f«»r  (Jlivia.  So  lon<r  ;1.  >},,.  liv,.,l. 
Philip  would  j.rol.al.Iy  IK-  >iU-nt.  in  respect  to  tliat  which  would 
hurt  IhT  reputation.  Hut  \\lio  was  to  sccinv  the  untaithful  Lruar- 
dian  against  the  spcrrh  of  ( )livia  herself  :>  Her  pa»i..uate  hloo.l 
had  evidently  e-eaped  wholly  from  the  control  of  IKT  tvrant. 
1  I  had  made  her  desperate,  in  making  lier  des,,late  ;  aiid  h. 
felt  that,  in  death  alone,  could  liis  safety  be  made  certain.  !!• 
knew  the  nature  of  passionate  women  too  well  ;  and  now  perceiv 
ed  thai  Olivia,  in  this  respect,  too  much  reseml.led  her  Hiscavan 
inotlier.  of  whom  his  exj.erience  was  >ut]icieiitly  vivid,  and  who, 
h'-  well  knew,  in  the  madness  of  her  awakened  passions,  had 
neither  fear  nor  prudence,  nor  scruple  ..f  any  sort  He  trembled, 

:rdini:ly  ;  proud,  fearless  and  powerful  as  hewa^;   K-t  the 

reckless,  OF  the  th<>u^hth.>s  word  of  either  the  kniulit  <.f  Portu 
gal  or  Olivia  de  Alvaro,  slioiild,  at  any  moment,  hurl  him  head- 
Ion-  from  position,  making  him  odious  to  all,  and  sui.jectiiiii  him 
to  le^ral,  as  wll  a-  social,  persecution.  Whv  liad  ni>t  the  nut. 
1:lw-  «e  his  work  upon  the  kui^ht  ?  *Theiv  wei 

Opportunities  enoiiu'h  ;   and  Mateo  was  too  well  known,  a-  ,t  des- 
pi-rado,  t«>  Mippox,.  that  he  had  either  moral  scruple-,  or  p«-r>oiial 
Tlie  «jiu->fion  trouhled  the   1  •  .  fri,m  liis  own  con- 

jeetur---.  he  vainly  s«.u^ht    an   answer. 

While  he  meditated    the>e   doul.N.  an   old,  of  tlie  Adelantado 

arrived,  and  ln-ouudit  him  despatches  from  P«.u  Il.-rnau.  whi,  h 
required  hb  early  presence  in  the  city.  H.- di<mi-.-d  the  , 

r  with  a  reply  which  promised  that  he  would  soon  1-e  il,, 
al"'  I    ^niply  making  his  final  preparations  for  ji.inii^'  the 

!  superintending  the  work  of  embarkation.   "The 

Officer  disappeared,  riding  t-i-t.  and  was  seen  at  a  di 
'';1,  hy  tli  i.inir  outlaw. 

u  I  vinonio- !"    mil  is  closed    tertli, 

"there  got  Had  i  «,„,,,  M  i,,,,;,.  >(M;I, 

He  had  mistaken  the  rider  for  Don  Ba!tha/a:        He  now  mort 
1C* 


370  VASCONSELOS. 

leisurely  continued  his  progress,  and  at  length  found  himself 
amidst  the  silent  groves  surrounding  the  summer-house  of  the 
knight, — that  lovely  and  secluded  lodge  which  had  been  so  fruit 
ful  in  events  affecting  the  destinies  of  some  of  the  persons  of  our 
drama.  It  was  fated  to  furnish  yet  another  scene  of  deep  inter 
est  to  the  parties. 

Don  Balthazar,  burning  or  preserving  papers,  arranging  anus, 
and  armor,  was  busy  and  thoughtful  in  his  chamber,  when  the 
old  hag,  Sylvia,  suddenly  burst"  into  the  apartment.  He  looked 
up  at  the  intrusion,  with  a  haughty  frown  ;  but  she  was  not  ap 
palled  by  it.  She  was  wild  with  excitement  ;  and  her  sinister 
and  withered  features  were  now  absolutely  fiendish  in  the  expres 
sion  of  rage  which  they  exhibited.  She  could  scarcely  speak,  so 
agitating  were  her  emotions.  When  she  did  succeed  in  giving 
utterance  to  the  cause  of  her  excitement,  she  was  surprised  to 
find  that  her  master  did  not  partake  of  her  wrath,  and  seemed 
lightly  to  listen  to  her  communications. 

"He  is  here,  Seftor ;"  she  exclaimed,—"  the  villain,  M 
the  outlaw;  the  murderer;  the  robber  of  the  old  woman  ! 
is  here,  Sefior,  in  the  groves;  he  is  even  now  gone  to  the  garden 
house  !" 

Mateo  had  evidently  neglected  his  usual  precautions.  Satis 
fied  that  the  horseman'  whom  lie  had  seen  pushing  for  the  city,  at 
full  speed,  was  Don  Balthazar  himself,  he  had  been  at  no  pains 
to  make  his  movements  seeret. 

"Ah!  he  is  here,  then,— Mateo?"  and  the  knight  smiled  with 
a  grim  complaisance,  and  muttered.  ,w//o  roc,—-'-  He  has  done  it, 
then,  perhaps,  and  comes  for  his  reward  !  Good  !  lie  know-  his 
time,  and  has,  no  doubt,  done  i;  ellieieiitlv  !  Well!  I  must  see 
him." 

He  at  once  rose,  and.  with  his  sword  only  at  his  side,  moved 
quickly  from  the  chamber.  Sylvia  wa*  quite  confounded ;  and 
followed,  muttering  her  surprise  MS  she  went.  Don  Balthazar 
never  once  looked  behind,  and  did  not  see  her;  or  he  would 
have  dismissal  her  wiih  severity.  And  then  ! — But  we  must  not 
anticipate  ! 

He  hurried  on;  and  so  rapid  were  his  movements,  that  the 
stiffened  limbs  of  the  old  woman  utterly  tailed  to  enable  her  to 
keep  any  sort  of  pace,  with  the.  progress  which  he  made.  He 
was  soon  in  the  groves;  had  soon  overpassed  the  space -^and, 
walking  in  the  buckskin  shoes,  the  use  of  which  the  Spaniards 
had  borrowed  from  the  red  men,— wearing  them  commonly  when  in 

their  peaceful  avocations,-  be  entered  the  garden  house  unheard 

lie  was  confounded  at  what  he  beheld.     The  outlaw  had  cooll) 


TFTK    SntlTJSK.  371 


taken  ;  'he  premises.      II.-  was  <m  his  knees,  in  the 

•  •••I  tin-  army  chest  in  which  Don  Haltha/ar  had 
stored  the  papers  which  the  outlaw  sought  ;  his  head  was  fairly 
lumed  in  the  che>t.  and  he  was  l>u>ily  -  evidently  in  the 

examination  of  all  its  contents.  The  surprise  wa-  complete. 
For  a  moment,  the  knight  stood  motionless.  watching  the  cool 

intruder!     lie  NW  the  secret  of  the  proceeding  at  a  irlanee. 

••The  seoimdivl."  said  lie  to  himself,  "has  seen  me  put  away 
the  papers  in  the  chest,  and  lie  now  comes  to  steal  tin-in,  without 
li;i\h,_:  done  tin-  service  P1  Then,  aloud,  advancing  a-  he  spoke, 
ninl  laying  his  hand  upon  the  outlaw's  shoulder,  he  said  — 

••  I  low  no\\.  rascal,  what  are  you  doin«:  h 

The  cool,  hardy,  daring  character  of  Mateo.  was  such  as  to 
render  surpri-es  less  dangerous  to  him.  and  less  difficult  of  eva 
sion,  than  would  l>e  the  case  with  most  people.  At  the  sound 
of  the  knight's  vice,  he  immediately  conceived  the  pivdi 
in  which  he  >t  .....  I.  Hut.  that  Don  Balthazar  .^"Ar,  and  only  laid 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  when  lie  mi^ht  have  run  him  through 
the  l.n.ly.  as  a  first  salutation,  was  an  absolute  surrender  of  all 
tlu-  advantages  of  the  surprise;  and  afforded  to  tin;  ln>l<l  rufiian 
the  chance  of  operatinir  a  surprise  in  turn.  Certainly,  most 
persons,  taken  thus  at  advantage,  would  have  lost  something  of 
their  moral  resources  in  consequence  "f  their  position.  !'.  it 
'  i  not  an  ordinary  ruffian.  The  forbearance  of  thekn'jht 

i  tin-  outlaw  that  the  former  would  not  be  likely  ,  under 
the  circum-tanees.  to  anticipate  iv-i-taiinc.  still  less  assault  fr«»ni 
the  per-on  hi-  appeared  to  think  so  eompletely  in  his  power  ;  — 
an«l  the  exercise  of  his  thought.  t«>  thU  Mich  a  m 

exliihited  Mateo  in  possession  ..f  a   more  deeply  :  mind 

than  his  superior.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  with  a  ran-  ability, 
which,  in  the  oiitlnw.  was  a  pos-rs>inii  fully  i-(jual  to  his  wonderful 
strength,  he  suddenly  slipped  from  under  the  i^ra-p  of  the  Don, 
and.  hcfore  the  latter  divanied  of  hi->  -1  i  change-  i 

lions  with  him  ;   had  thrown  himself  upon    him.  and  forced    him 
down  upon  the    h---1.  wiih    his    head    huried    amon-j  its  n-. 
To  do   this  was   the  work  of  an    instant   only.      Fortunately  f  >r 
the    knight,  the.   assailant    had    not    a  -in^le  weapon   in  hi-  . 
He  had  been  u^iiitz  i>  -ver  of  the 

che-t.  and  had   thrown  it  down    upon  the  tl-or  a  f.-w  feet  di-tant. 
Hut  his  tinu(.rs  seemed  to  l.e  mad-'  of  steel,  and    th-  — 
lh«-   'iiroa;  ..f  Don    Haltha/ar.  with    a    ^ripi-    so  close    and  fierce, 
that  in  a  single  moment  of  time,  the  latter  had  iirown  purple  in 
the  face,  while  his  ejrefl  dilat    1  -.viUJIy  in  their 


372  VASCONSKLOS. 

"Villain,  would  you  murder  me?"  gasped  the  cavalier,  vainly 
struggling  to  rise,  and  making  efforts  as  desperate  as  unavailing. 

"You  have  come  for  it  !  1  thought  you  sate,  and  I  eur-ed  ihe 
Blessed  Devils,  that  helped  you  off.  But  1  did  Vm  wrong  !  The} 
have  delivered  you  into  my  hands  !  You  thought  to  bu\  me.  did 
you,  to  kill  the  good  knight  of  Portugal  I  I'll  kill  you  for  him  ! 
I'll  kill  you  for  the  poor  young  lady,  my  mistress  !  (  >h  !  didn't 
I  see,  with  my  own  eyes,  just  as  Don  Philip  saw?  You  ought 
to  die  a  hundred  deaths!  But,  as  it's  only  once  for  you  as  tin 
other  men,  the  sooner  you  taste  it,  the  sooner  you  get  your  w:iges. 
You  shan't  have  time  to  say  a  prayer;  not  one:  for  you  shan't 
have  any  mercy  from  God  any  more  than  from  me  !  Die  !  1 
say  ;  die  !  Die !  Die !'' 

The  knight  succumbed;  he  had  neither  room  nor  strength  for 
struggle.  Hands  and  head  buried  in  the  chest,  and  taee  down 
wards,  he  was  helpless!  The  hoarse  gurgle  of  his  breath  in  the 
throat  was  already  painful  to  the  ear,  and  the  writhings  of  his 
form  were  those  of  a  man  vainly  struggling  with  the  last  potent 
enemy;  when,  suddenly,  a  sound  was  heard  by  the  writhing  and 
almost  suffocated  man, — a  sound, — a  stroke! — another,  and  ano- 
th,«r  j — and  the  gripe  of  his  enemy  relaxed  ;  and  there  was  a  wild 
yell  above  him  ; — but  one! — and  Don  Baltha/ar  felt  relieved. 
He  began  once  more  to  breathe.  lie  felt  no  longer  the  incum 
bent  weight  of  the  gigantic  ruffian  upon  his  back  !  Gradually,  he, 
recovered  consciousness.  He  heard  a  voice  calling  him  by  name. 
He  felt  hands  officiously  helping  him  to  rise ;  he  felt  a  cool  but 
grateful  shock  of  water.  His  eyes  opened  to  the  day  once  more. 
He  looked  about  him :  slowly,  but  fully,  at  length,  his  glance 
took  in  the  objects  around  him.  He  found  himself  seated  beside, 
the  chest,  from  which  he  had  been  rolled  out  rather  than  lifted  ; 
and,  before  him,  stiff  in  death,  lay  the  corse  of  the  outlaw,  who, 
but  a  little  before,  had  been  so  completely  in  his  power  !  The 
old  hag,  Sylvia,  stood  at  hand  to  help  her  maMer,  and  soon  ex 
plained  the  agency  by  which  his  life  had  been  saved.  She  had 
followed  him  to  the  summer-house,  curious  to  see  and  hear,  and 
anxious  for  the  recovery  of  her  goods,  of  which  Mateo  had  de 
prived  her.  She  had  come  not  a  moment  too  soon  !  Seeing  the, 
knight's  danger,  she  had  caught  up  the  hatchet  which  was  em 
ployed  for  trimming  the  trees  and  shrubbery  of  the  grove,  ami 
which  lav  in  the  verandah  of  the  summer-house,  convenient,  with 
.saw  and  other  implements;  and.  without  a  word,— governed  by 
instincts  which  always  prompt  to  dec-ism*  action  where  the  mind 
has  few  thoughts  to  trouble  it. — had  stolen  behind  the  outlaw. 
He,  bent  only  on  strangling  his  enemy, — with  passions  which 


FATE   OF  TI1E   OUTLAW.  873 

deadened  the  sense, — heard  nothing  of  her  approach  !  A  stun 
ning  blow  from  the  hatchet  made  him  conscious  of  his  danger, 
while  almost  taking  all  consciousness  away  !  Hi-  was  not  allow 
ed  a  moment.  Stroke  aftei  stroke  followed,  with  the  hammer, 
as  with  the  edge  of  the  hatchet;  delivered  without  regard  to  the 
appropriate  use  of  the  weapon,  but  delivered  with  >u«  h  a  will  as 
made  every  stroke  tell  fatally  ;  until  the  head  was  cleft  wide  ;  tho 
.skull  beaten  in; — and  the  strong,  fierce,  wild,  savage  man  rolled 
upon  the  floor; — a  ghastly  spectacle  of  death;  wallowing  in  blood ; 
— in  a  moment,  torn  from  life;  in  the  moment  of  his  greatest 
strength  of  arm  and  passion;  and,  by  the  withered  arm  of  a  des 
pised  old  woman  !  The  outlaw  knew  not  by  whose  arm,  or  by 
what  weapon  he  perished.  He  saw  not  his  assailant.  He  was  not 
allowed  to  turn  and  face  his  danger:  the  reiterated  blows  fell 
erushingly  and  fast,  and  he  sunk  under  them,  a  helpless  mass,  in 
.ess  time  than  we  have  employed  in  describing  the  event 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

"  Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thce, 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  truth  and  loyalty.' 

As  Yon  Lnot  IT. 

IT  was  a  goodly  hour  after  the  event,  before  Don  Balthazar 
had  sufficiently  recovered  from  his  sufferings  to  resume  his  acti 
vity,  or  comply  with  the  summons  of  the  Adelantado,  to  return 
to  the  city.  When  able  to  rise  and  look  about  him,  he  gave  his 
orders  with  customary  sang  froid,  for  the  removal  and  disposi 
tion  of  the  dead  body  of  the  outlaw,  which  was  publicly  exposed 
during  the  day,  and  finally  hung  in  chains  by  the  public  execu- 
tioner.  But  this  exhibition  did  not  take  place  till  after  the  de 
parture  of  the  expedition  ;  and  the  good  Knight  of  Portugal,  and 
his  page  Juan,  were  somewhat  surprised  at  not  exchanging  fare 
wells  with  the  bold  outlaw,  as  he  had  promised  them  should  be 
the  case.  They  little  anticipated  for  him,  such  a  short  and  hur 
ried  transition,  from  the  extreme  health,  hope  and  vigor  of 
impetuous  and  eager  manhood,  to  the  stagnating  and  corrupting 
embrace  of  death ;  and  did  not  learn,  until  they  had  arrived  in 
Florida,  the  history  of  the  bloody  and  fatal  conflict  which  we 
have  narrated.  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment,  that 
they  turned  their  eyes  upon  the  wide  waste  of  .waters  before 
their  prows,  from  the  crowds  upon  the  shore,  gradually  melting 
into  masses,  and  to  be  individualized  no  longer.  As  the  night 
came  on,  Philip  de  Vasconselos  threw  himself  upon  the  «Kvk  of 
the  caravel,  musing  sadly  upon  the  stars  as  they  silently  stole 
out  to  sight,  and  hardly  knew  that  the  boy  Juan  crouched  as 
silently  behind  him.  There  was  scarcely  a  word  spoken  be 
tween  them  that  night,  yet,  somehow,  this  silent  attendance,  and 
simple  devotion  of  the  page,  strengthened,  at  each  moment,  the 
feeling  of  sympathy,  with  which  the  knight,  from  the  very  first, 
regarded  him. 

u  The  boy  hath  a  heart,"  quoth  Philip  to  himself; — "he  can 
feel.  He  hath  not  yet  survived  his  tenderness.  But  it  will  not  be 
for  long.  The  world  rarely  leaves  us  long  in  possession  of  such 
a  treasure.  Were  he  wise,  now,  the  sooner  he  flings  it  from  him, 
or  puts  it  to  silence,  the  more  sure  were  he  to  escape  its  sor 
rows.  What  profits  it  to  us  that  we  have  the  wealth  that  keeps 
us  wakeful ;  when  sleep, — sleep, — is  the  best  blessing  that  we 
(«74) 


COM  MU  NIX  OS   OF    KNIGHT   AND    PAGE  375 

need,  and  ought  to  pray  for?  Oh  !  that.  I  might  shut  out  thought 
when  I  shut  mine  eyes  ;  or  hush  the  heart  into  silence  that  only 
wounds  me  with  its  cries!" 

Thus,  the  knight.  The  boy,  no  doubt,  had  his  musings 
also.  They  both  slept  upon  the  deck,  nightly,  in  close  neighbor 
hood,  throughout  the  voyage.  Neither  spoke  much ;  hut  th.-y 
grew  silently  together.  If  Don  Philip  showed  himself  wakeful 
and  restless,  and  strode  the  deck  at  times  throughout  the  night. 
the  boy  watched  him  the  while,  and  sometimes  followed  his 
footsteps  ;  though  always  at  a  distance.  Gradually,  this  distance 
lessened  between  them.  The  page  followed  clove  his  master. 
Voyagers  in  a  frail  barque,  upon  the  lonely  wa-  an, 

rarely  observe  the  restraining  barriers  which  keep  the  souls  of 
men  apart  on  shore ;  and  the  devotion  of  the  boy.  his  MJent 
watchfulness,  his  unobtrusive  attention,  at  length,  won  the 
knight's  regard;  and  he  called  him  to  his  side  in  frequent  re 
mark  ;  and  he  bade  him  observe  the  stars  ;  and  he  called  them 
by  their  several  names;  and  taught  him  their  uses  to  the  man 
ner  ;  and  he  discoursed  of  the  winds  ;  of  their  mysterious  birth 
and  origin  :  how  some  of  them  were  gracious,  always  in  regard 
to  the  seaman;  how  others  brought  poison  to  the  atmosphere. 
Then  he  spoke  of  the  new  wild  world  of  the  Apalachian  to  which 
they  were  approaching,  and  of  which  Yasconscios  taught  tin- 
page  many  strange  things;  all  of  which  he  had  learned  from  his 
own  experience,  in  the  famous  adventure  which  lie  had  pursued 
along  with  Cabeza  de  Vaca  on  his  famous  expedition  ;  —  thus 
teaching  his  young  companion  various  matters  <>f  wlii.-h  on 
young  and  untutored  could  not  be  expected  to  know.  And  the 
boy  reverently  listened,  and  loved  to  listen,  though  in  s<.<.;h.  he 
knew  much  more  of  these  things  than  the  good  knight  -uppos, -d. 
and  had  enjoyed  much  better  MMMVCS  of  knowledge  than  might 
he-eem  hU  present  position.  Of  this  Philip  de  Yasconselov  had 
no  conjecture,  though  he  could  see  that  the  page  was  l>y  no 
means  an  ordinary  boy;  was  quick  to  con.-ei  ,-e.  and  to  appre 
hend  ;  and  when  he  replied,  did  BO  ^hrewi>hly.  and  with  an  intelli 
gence  and  thought  as  much  be\<>inl  his  apparent  age.  as  beyond 
Dtfl  -situation  and  race.  But.it  was  in  the  delicate  sensibilities  i.f 
.Juan,  that  the  knight  took  most  intcrot.  Now.  the-.;-  -ensibil- 
ities  of  \outh  do  not  declare  themselves  usually  in  wonK  or  in 
ordinary  fashion.  Where  the  heart  f.-els  quickly,  and  the  emo 
tions  wait  ever  in  readiness  for  the  ^umm«ns.  words  are  not 
always  present  to  ser\e  the  want-  or  \\i>he-  ..f  the  siipt  ri.>r  en 
dowment.  Thi>  mu.-t  sh-)\\  it-i-lf  to  ;hc  eye  and  mind  "f  him 
who  would  understand  and  love  it  ;  and  it  requires,  accordingly, 


376  VASCOXSELOS. 

mind  and  eye,  capable  of  reading  a  very  subtle,  profound  and  mys 
terious  language.  Now  the  secret  of  this  capacity  is  to  be  found 
only  in  very  active  susceptibilities,  on  the  part  of  him  who  reads. 
His  open  sensibilities  must  be  keen  and  watchful;  he  must 
possess  a  gentle  spirit  at  the  core :  he  must  have  loved  and 
suffered  ;  must  still  love  and  suffer  ;  must  be  full  of  pity  and 
sorrow,  though  he  speaks  little  and  doth  not  complain  ;  and 
there  must  be  a  rare  delicacy  of  sentiment  in  his  soul,  so  that 
there  shall  be  no  change  in  the  aspect  of  the  other  whom  he  seeks 
or  esteems,  however  slight,  that  he  shall  not  see,  and  comprehend 
at  a  single  glance.  Nor  wants  he  to  see,  except  to  be  solicitous  ; 
nor  comprehend  that  he  may  slight.  It  is  enough,  here  to  say, 
that  these  conditions,  by  which  kindred  spirits  seek,  meet,  and 
link  themselves  with  one  another,  were  all  found  in  the  respect 
of  Don  Philip  and  the  boy  Juan ;  so  that  a  look,  a  tone,  a  ges 
ture,  of  one  or  the  other,  did  not  fail  to  make  itself  fully  under- 
stood  by  both,  and  to  command  at  the  same  time  the  most 
genial  sympathy.  And  it  shall  be  no  long  time,  after  such  is 
found  to  be  the  case  between  two  such  parties,  when  it  will  be 
impossible  to  maintain  cold  barriers  of  society,  keeping  them 
separate ;  when  the  two  hearts  shall  so  yearn  for  the  close  com 
munion,  that  the  mind  shall  forget  all  the  distinctions  of  men 
on  land,  and  there  shall  be  a  gentle  law  controlling  both,  which 
shall  do  away  utterly  with  all  common  usages  of  constraint, 
substituting  others  of  a  finer  fabric,  more  subtle,  apparent,  and 
not  less  strong ;  which  shall  grow  out  of  veneration  and  sympa 
thy.  Thus  it  was  that  Philip  de  Vasconselos  soon  learned — 
even  in  that  short  voyage — to  love  the  boy,  Juan,  as  a  boy  of 
truly  loyal  and  devout  soul ;  as  of  tender  and  sweet  sympathies ; 
and  of  tastes  so  delicate,  as  equally  to  confound  the  knight  at 
their  possession  by  one  of  his  sex  and  race.  The  boy,  on  the 
other  hand,  might  be  supposed  to  love  the  knight  because  of  his 
justice,  his  noble  purpose  and  princely  thoughts ;  his  great  courage 
and  skill  in  arms;  his  graceful  carriage;  and  for  all  that  was 
manly  and  great  in  his  character.  It  might  be  that,  had  Philip 
been  of  the  other  sex,  these  traits  would  have  proved  less  im 
posing  in  the  estimation  of  the  page !  But  it  matters  little  as  to 
what  were  the  causes,  respectively  working,  by  which  the  two 
gradually  grew  to  be  so  well  attached  to  each  other.  Enough, 
that  such  is  the  fact,  and  that  they  held  frequent  communion. 
With  whom  else  should  Philip  commune'?  Never  was  noble 
knight  more  desolate  of  soul,  and  lone  of  place,  than  he.  Often 
did  the  eyes  of  Philip  rest  si-archingly  upon  the  bronze  features 
of  the  boy,  with  a  curious  and  tender  interest.  It  seemed  to 


THE   ARMAMENT.  377 

!ii  MI  that  the  features  which  he  perused,  were  such  as  had  been 
known  to  him  before;  that  they  were,  in  some  sort,  precious  to 
liis  memory,  as  they  were  grateful  to  his  sight.  At  such  mo 
ments,  the  eyes  of  the  page  would  be  cast  down,  and  the 
knight  fancied*  that  there  was  an  expression  of  emotion,  in  his 
countenance,  amounting  to  compassion,  when  he  was  con-cioiis 
of  this  silent  study.  But  Philip  spoke  nothing  of  the  thoughts 
which  this  conduct  occasioned  :  yet  he  did  not  the  less  continue 
to  examine  the  features  of  the  youth ;  and  he  found  a  strange  se 
cret  pleasure  in  this  study.  Nor  did  he,  because  of  the  study, 
continue  the  less  to  teach,  and  to  commune  with  the  young 
mind  which  he  was  pleased  to  instruct.  And  thus  it  happened 
that  the  two  scarcely  sought,  or  found,  much  communion  with 
any  others  of  the  ship.  The  hoy  knew  none,  of  all  in  the  army, 
hut  Philip,  and  he.  with  few  friends  in  the  expedition,  had.  as  it 
happened,  none  of  them  in  the  same  vessel  with  himself.  Xutio 
<le  T->bar.  hi-  only  close  associate  in  Cuba,  and  his  o\vn  brother 
Andres,  hud  both  i>een  taken  on  board  the  same  barque  which 
bore  the  Adelantado  and  Don  Baltha/ar  <!e  Alvaro. 

The   expedition,  according  to   one  of  the  aeeoiinK  had  set  sail 
from    Havana  on   the    1 2th  of  May,  1539  ;  other  authorit! 
the  18th  of  the  same  month.     In  all   probability  the  latter  was 
the,  true  date.     The  fleet,  in  safety,  reached   the  coast  «»f  Florida 
on  the  £">th.  being  seven  days  at  sea.     But  whether  it  sailed  on 
the  12th  or  18th,  in  either  case,  the  voyage  had  not  been  a  long 
one,  for  that  period,  in  those  capricious  ^.-as. — and  in  that  - 
of  the    year.      The    licet    entered    the    IJay    of  Tampa,    to  which 
to    gave  the   name   of  Kspiritu    Santo.      The   voiil    of  the 
Adelantado    <vas  ureatly  lifted    at    the  su<ve<^   of  the  vo\ 
all  his  :ships  .irriving  in  good  order,  and  at  the  Name   lime  ; 
at  the  noble  display  of  his  armament  on   the   shores  of  th 
lachian.      Never  before  had  so  splendid   an  army  been  sent  from 
the  old  world  to  the  new.     It  consisted  of  no  less  than  a  thousand 

men.  of  whom  three  hundred  and  lift  v  were  cavaliers  on  h<  >r 

•.  many  of  them,  of  the  nob:,--;  families  of  Tactile. 
The  knights  were  provided  with  helmets,  and  CUirasaes,  and 
shit-Ids,  and  Merl  armor;  armed  with  swonUof  iheb.-t  temper, 
and  with  Well-tried  lane«-s  ,,f  |;  .  eumpletc  and  admirable 

equipment,     The  mvat  body  of  the  trooj 

a  sort  of  thiek  bull'maN.  wadded  with  cotton,  the  better  to  resist 
the  fearful  arrows  of  the  n-d  men.  They  were  armed  with  ar- 
<|iiebu<  or  oronbow,  and  carried  with  them  a  single  piece  of  ar- 
tillers.  Fleet  greyhound-  were  provided  to  run  down  the  fu- 
gitn«'s,  and  well-trained  bloodhounds  were  held  in  leash,  to  do 


378  VASCOXSELOS. 

good  duty  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight,— to  rend  or  devour  the 
naked  savages,  upon  whom  they  had  been  taught  to  feed.  The 
chivalry  of  that  day  found  nothing  inhuman  in  the  use  of  such  an 
agency  in  war.  But,  as  mere  conquest  were  nothing  without 
taking  heed  to  its  acquisitions,  workmen,  and  the  necessary  appa 
ratus,  were  carried,  for  the  purpose  of  smelting  and  refining  the 
precious  metals  which  they  confidently  expected  to  find.  N<  r 
were  the  chains,  handcuffs,  and  collars  of  iron,  forgotten,  by  which 
their  captives  were  to  be  secured^  in  order  to  be  shipped  safely 
to  the  plantations  of  the  Cuban.  Droves  of  cattle,  mules,  and 
hogs,  constituted  a  more  benevolent  provision,  made  fur  the  wants 
of  the  expedition,  when  it  should  reach  the  country,  where  the 
hogs  and  cattle  were  to  be  let  go  free. 

Accustomed  to  the  easy  conquest  of  such  feeble  tribes  as  the 
Peruvian,  De  Soto  felt  that  such  an  armament,  so  far  surpassing 
those  of  Cortez  and  Pizarro,  was  quite  equal  to  the  conquest  o\ ci 
the  whole  country  of  the  Apalachian.  Never  a  doubt  of  this 
result  crossed  the  mind  of  the  haughty  Adelantado,  and  he  made 
instant  preparations  for  throwing  a  body  of  troops  on  shore,  and 
taking  possession  of  the  territory  in  the  name  of  his  monarch, 
the  Emperor,  Charles  the  Fifth.  The  wealthy  knight,  Vascc 
Porcallos,  claimed  the  high  honor  of  leading  this  party,  and  per 
forming  this  act  of  sovereignty;  and  the  privilege  was  conceded 
him.  He  was  to  have  the  command  of  a  force  of  three  thousand 
men,  being,  in  fact,  all  those  who  could  be  prepared  fcr  lisem- 
barkation  during  that  day.  The  shipping,  meanwhile,  were  gra 
dually  warping  in  shore,  a  performance  not  so  easy  on  account  of 
the  rapid  shoaling  of  the  water,  and  for  which  they  had  to  depend 
upon  the  tides.  Meanwhile,  more  for  the  purposes  >f  solemnity 
and  state,  than  because  he  felt  the  need  to  be  taught  anything,  the 
Adelantado  called  a  council  of  his  chief  officers.  Philip  de  Vas- 
conselos  was  invited  to  this  conference.  He,  by  the  way.  had  l>een 
one  of  those  designated  to  land  with  Vasco  Porcallos,  the  better 
that  he  might  act  as  interpreter,  should  there  be  any  meeting  with 
the  red  men.  With  regard  to  this  sort  of  service,  De  Soto  now 
more  than  ever  felt  the  importance  of  having  one  with  him  who 
not  only  had  some  knowledge  of  the  country,  but  who  could  thus 
become  a  medium  of  communication  with  'its  people.  Though 
still  a  little  too  lofly  and  reserved  towards  our  knight  of  Portu 
gal,  he  yet  descended  somewhat  from  his  pride  of  place  in  order 
to  solicit  him.  lie  had  already  distinguished  him  by  the  request. 
that  he  would  serve  about  his  person  as  one  of  his  Lieutenants, — . 
a  request  which  the  other  had  no  motive  to  refuse;;  and  he  cheer 
fully  consented  to  disembark  among  the  first  with  Vasco  Por 


PHILIP'S  COUNSEL.  379 

callus.  His  first  counsel  to  the  Adelantado,  and  the  other  chiefs, 
;•  should  In-  taken  with  great  circumspection  ; 
that  there  should  he  horse  patrols  on  every  side;  that  th"  most 
umvlaxini:  watchfulness  should  be  required  of  every  sentinel; 
that  the  trooj»s  should  sleep  in  their  armor,  and  have  their  I 
poi;s  constantly  at  hand. 

"These  Apalaehian-,  Ss-fmrcs."  said  he.  "are  a  fierce  and  fear- 
lesa  race;  they  are  no  such  fcelilc  and  timid  people,  as  those  of 
(.'uba  and  Peru.  They  loye  the  light,  with  a  passion  which  pre 
fers  it  as  their  best  delight.  They  a<k  no  meicy,  and  they  accur.l 
none.  It  will  need  all  our  valor  and  prudence.  and  we  shall  tri 
umph  rather  less  through  our  valor,  than  our  modes  of  deliver 
ing  battle,  —  the  peculiarity  of  our  weapons,  —  the  terrors  in 
spired  by  our  arquebuses,  —  which  shall  seem  to  the  savages  no 
than  thunder  and  swords  of  the  subtle  lightning;  and  the 
awe  with  which  they  shall  behold  our  horses;  to  them  so  many 
unknown  and  devouring  numbers;  which  they  shall  endeavor  to 
ipe  in  vain,  and  wh<»se  speed  shall  mock  their  own  fleetne-s 
<>f  font;  which,  compared  with  that  of  other  men,  is  truly  mar- 


The  Adelantado  smiled  rather  contemptuously  at  this  counsel, 
having,  aa  he  thought,  suftieien:  nee  himself,  in  wai 

with  the  red  men.  to  know  what  precautions  to  take,  and   how  to 
manage  the  encounter  with  the  enemy. 

-Truly,  we  are  thankful  for  your  xeal  and  wi-dmn.  Don  Philip, 
though  with  sonic  experimee  of  niir  own.  in  the  warfare  with  the 
heathen,  and  some  small  reputation  gained  in  other  wars,  it  might 
be  held  reasonable  to  suppose  that  I  should  omit  no 

mtions  which  are  needful  to  the  safety  «>f  my  follower-  when 
embarking  on  the  shores  (,f  the  Floridian." 

There  was  no   pique   in   the   tone   or   manner  of  our   knight  of 
,'jal.  as  he  replied  calmly  : 

V  mr  Kxcei:  -    rightly,  and    !  were   greatly  desrrvin«r 

'•huke.  had  I  d«'si'_rn,  ,1  tn  oasl  a  doubt  up  >n  vmir  perfect  -ufli- 
ciency  tnr  th"  toils  of  war  in  any  land  :   but  I  meant  nothing  more 
than  a  general  warning  that  the  circumspection  which  would   suf 
lice   against    an   ordinary  race,  will    hardiv  be  adi-quate  ' 
rity  agaiii^t  this  of  the    Apalachian.  who^e   subtleties   tar   61 
tlm-.-  of  all   other  red    men.  and  who   are   a-   valiant    in 

ii  their  persons  as  tlr-y  are  in«.r'ii!i"us  in  th--ir  warlike  de- 


\Vith  this  apoloijer 

AH    unwilling   auditory.      Th.-   Adei.intado  addrexsi-.l    \\\>   counii! 
without  giving  the  sligi:  what  had  1/eeii  urged  by  the 


880  VASCONIELOS. 

knight  of  Portugal ;  and  the  latter,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  con 
soled  himself  with  the  reflection,  that  the  lesson  which  he  strove 
in  vain  to  enforce,  would  probably  be  taught,  though  at  a  greater 
cost  to  his  hearers,  by  the  Apalachian  himself. 

"The  experience  which  tutors  pride  to  a  just  humility."  he 
mused  within  himself,  "  is  perhaps,  the  best  sort  of  lessoning  ; 
and  he  who  would  succeed,  when  the  warfare  is  somewhat  with 
his  own  vanity,  cannot  be  saved  from  the  punishment  which  fol 
lows  close  upon  its  indulgence.  It  is  well,  perhaps,  that  he  will 
not  hear,  since  it  is  only  right  that  he  should  be  made  to  ferl  : 
and  our  safety  and  success,  perhaps,  must  equally  depend  upon' 
our  being  made  to  feel,  at  the  beginning  of  the  adventure,  rather 
than  at  a  later  time,  when  we  are  too  deeply  engaged  in  it.  But, 
so  sure  as  there  are  Fates,  Hernando  de  Soto  will  be  certain 
to  receive  his  lesson  before  he  hath  gone  very  deeply  into  his 
books." 

The  conference, — such  as  it  was — where  there  could  be  no 
dissent  and  no  deliberation, — was  soon  at  an  end.  De  Soto 
simply  detailed  his  plans  at  length,  and  gave  his  order  for  the 
disembarkation,  the  conduct  of  which  was  entrusted  to  the 
wealthy  Don  Vasco  Porcallos ;  and  never  was  ambitions  mortal 
more  eager  than  he  to  set  forth  on  his  adventures.  His  ap 
petites  for  gold  and  captives  had  been  growing  with  every  league 
of  progress  which  he  had  made  on  the  watery  waste,  and  still 
less  than  the  Adelantado  was  he  prepared  to  apprehend  the  pos 
sibility  of  failure  or  reverse  of  any  sort  in  his  present  frame  of 
mind.  He  dreamed  only  of  riding  down  myriads  of  naked  and 
panic-stricken  savages,  selecting  the  most,  vigorous  captives  and 
spearing  the  rest.  But  Vasconselos  better  knew  the  danger,  and 
hence  the  duty.  He  knew  they  were  not  to  triumph  without 
hard  fighting,  great  firmness,  and  constant  caution. 

Scarcely  had  the  vessels  appeared  in  sight  of  the-  coasts,  than 
the,  balefires  smoked  on  all  the  heights  and  tumuli  that  lined  the 
shore,  attesting  the  watch  and  vigilance  of  the  Fioridians.  These 
were  signals  of  danger,  and  announced  to  the  warriors  in  t.h'-  inte 
rior  I  o  gather  from  all  quarters.  Philip  pointed  out  mon  sig 
nal--  lo  the  page.  "See  you.  Juan."  said  he. — •  already  tfte  red 
men  have  taken  alarm.  Those  smokes  that  rise  every  where  in 
sight,  will  kindle  ether  smoke<,  which  shall  give  warning  to  nil 
the  separate  tribet.  They  will  fire  pile-;  throughout  the  mighty 
I,  until  the  answering  smoke-;  -lull  ascend  from  the  <rivat 
mountains  of  the  Apalachian.  Where  a  people  are  thus  vigilant 
to  note  and  prepare  for  the  first,  dangers  of  invasion,  they  are 
warlike;  they  will  fight  famously;  they  will  give  us  work  to 


SAVAGE    WARFARE.  881 

do,  and  task  equally  our  skill  and  valor.  So,  be  you  \\atcliful 
always,  my  l><»y.  that  you  be  not  at  any  time  surprised.  In  a 
country  of  deep  forests,  and  groat  swarded  meadows.  --u<  -li  ;i<  we 
shall  here  encounter.  filled  \\ith  races  of  fearless  hunters  there  i> 
HO  moment.  secure  iVum  danger;  there-  i>  s<-aivel\  a  position  >afe 
against  surprise.  One  lies  down  never  at  night,  without  the  ap 
prehension  that  he  shall  suddenly  be  summoned  by  the  deuthlv 
whoops  of  the  savage,  to  face  the  danger  in  the  dark.  It  lu-ed^to 
sleep  always,  lance  or  sword  in  hand,  and  with  one  eye  and  one 
ear  ever  open  to  sights  and  sounds  of  most  terrible  import,  lie 
watchful,  us  you  shall  behold  me  ever;  and  be  sure  that  you 
cling  closely  to  my  footsteps,  when  the  work  of  death  b.  j 

Could  the  good  knight,  at  this  moment,  have  felt  the  quick, 
deep  beatings  of  the  boy's  heart  ;  could  he  have  si-en  the  tremu 
lous  quiver  of  his  lips;  eould  lie  have  conjectured  what  emotions 
strange,  and  oppressive,  all  crowded  for  utterance  in  that  y<"ing 
bosom;  —  all,  however,  kept  down  by  a  will  that  was  perfectly 
wonderful,  in  so  young  a  frame  !  But  the  eyes  of  Philip  were 
scarcely  srt  upon  the  boy  as  he  address!  him.  lie  -p.-ke  while 
they  were  both  busy,  preparing  their  equipments,  and  getting  i'i 
readiness  to  obey  the  command  to  di-embark.  It  was  with  pro 
digious  effort  that  the  boy  controlled  his  emotions  sulVicieiitly  to 
speak. 

"And  are  we,  even  now,  to  land  upon  the  shores  of  the  Apa 
laehian.  '"' 


"  Within  the  hour,  .Juan,  a  party  of  three  hundred  men.  com 
manded  by  D<>n  Va-ro  I'.-ivallos.  will  take  possession  of  tin- 
country  in  the  name  of  the  Kmperor,  and  I  am  to  accompany 
him.  a-,  interpreter  of  the  speech  of  the  red  man.  should  we 
happen  to  meet  with  any  of  his  raee.  But  he  will  be  more  apt 
to  speak  through  his  darN  and  arrows,  than  with  civil  tongue; 
and  now  I  think  of  it,  Juan,  it.  is  perhaps  needless  that  you 
should  go  with  me  on  shore,  until  the  whole  command  shall  dis 
embark.  YOU  an-  yet  ijuiie  young,  and  had  better  gather  glim  ps- 

es  of  the    strife  from  a  distance   at    first,  than  be  a  sharer  in    one 
of  which  thou  ha-t  no   e\periciu-c.      Keep    thine    cars   open,    and 
alter  midnight  thou  shall    hear  the  hellish  clamors  of  the  - 
as  they  howl  and    rage  around  our  camp.      I   shall  not  need  ihce 
in  this  adventure,  for  which  thou  art    yet  sraiveiv  well  ti" 

The  boy's  lip  quivered,  hut  his  words  were  firmly  delivered. 

"Seftor.  when  shall  I  be  fitted,  if  I   never  be-iin  ?     Son* 
I  must  begin,  and  the  longer  she  da\  i-  put  o|]'.  the  slower  will  bu 
my  teaching.      1  do  not  fear.      I  shall  be  \\i;h  \.    . 
please,  I  will  go  on  shore  wi  h  \  ou  tonight." 


882  VAscoNSELoa 

"  In  God's  name,  boy,  have  your  wish.  You  say  rightly. 
There  must  be  a  time,  when  this  lesson  must  be  taught,  and 
learned,  and  the  sooner,  as  you  say,  the  better.  Get  on  your 
escaupii.  and  see  that  your  weapons  are  such  as  will  serve  to 
risk  a  life  upon.  Bring  them  hither,  that  I  may  see." 

\Ye  must  not  linger  on  these  details.  Suffice  it  that  all  parties 
were  soon  prepared  for  the  landing  It  was  on  the  last  day  of 
the  month  of  May,  soft,  serene  and  sweet,  that  the  gallant  Hi 
dalgo.  Dun  Vasco  Porcallos,  led  the  way  for  his  detachment  of 
three  hundred,  and  took  final  possession  of  the  soil  of  the  Flo- 
ridians  in  the  name  of  Spain.  The  solemnity  was  a  very  stately 
one,  but  needs  not  that  we  describe  it.  The  banner  of  Castile 
was  unrolled  and  elevated  in  the  free  air  of  the  Apalaehians.  and 
was  planted  upon  one  of  the  elevations  nearest  to  the  shore. 
The  region  was  thickly  wooded,  the  forests  were  all  clad  in  tin. 
freshest  verdure  of  the  opening  summer ;  the  breeze  was  charged 
with  odors  from  worlds  of  flowers,  the  choicest  natives  of  the 
country  ;  and  a  natural  delight  filled  every  bosom,  and  exhila 
rated  the  spirits  of  the  soldiery  with  an  enthusiasm  that  seemed 
already  in  possession  of  the  fullest  successes.  In  pitching  their 
camp,  Philip  de  Vasconselos  again  ventured  to  give  such  hints 
to  Don  Vasco,  as  became  his  experience  and  caution.  But  the 
latter  was  even  more  sanguine  than  De  Soto,  and  less  heedful  ; 
and  the  manner  in  which  he  received  these  counsels  of  the  knight 
of  Portugal,  seemed  to  have  been  borrowed  from  that  of  the 
Adelantado  on  t'he  occasion  already  shown.  He  was  civilly 
scornful,  and  Vasconselos  saw,  with  chagrin  and  apprehension. 
that  the  ground  chosen  for  the  night  was  such  as  would  rather 
invite  and  facilitate  than  discourage  from  attack.  But  he  could  do 
no  more.  He  had  only  to  submit,  and  hope  against  his  fears, 
and  provide  as  well  as  he  might,  against  the  emergency  that  he 
anticipated.  But  lacking  all  command,  with  but  the  single  fol 
lower,  he  a  child,  inexperienced  and  evidently  tired,  what  could 
he  done? 

'•Come."  said  he  cheerfully  to  Juan,  "come,  my  b-.y.  and  let 
us  seek  out  our  (juarters.  We  are  limited  to  a  certain  precinct, 
but  this  affords  choice  of  sleeping-place,  and  upon  this  choice 
may  rest  chance  of  safety." 

The  boy  followed  in  silence.  The  knight  rambled  over  the 
ground  assigned  for  1  lie  encampment,  and  chose  a  little  clump  of 
wood,  wl  icri  atlorded  sufficient  co\vr  for  a  small  group,  yet  stood 
apart,  as  it  were,  from  the  rest  of  the  forest:  affording  an  inter 
val,  over  whirh  the  eye  could  raii're.  with  tolerable  freedom  for 
some  space,  and  thus  note  any  hostile  approaches.  To  find  this  par 


KNI'.HTLY     LKSSUNS.  888 

ticular  spot,  Vasconselos  made  his  way  to  the  very  verge  of  the 
encampment,  but  not  much  farther  from  the  shore  than  any  of 
the  rest  of  the  detachment.  Here  he  hung  his  buckler  upon  a 
bough,  \vhile,  in  the  rear  of  the  thicket,  he  secured  his 

He  was  one  of  the   lew,   but  seven   in  number,   who  had   snc- 
••d  in  bringing  tht-ir  horses  ashore  that  evening.      "  The 

knight  must  love   his   o |  stood,  and  care  for  him,  Juan,  a-  he 

values  his  own  life.  Help  me  now  to  rub  him  down.  Hring 
me  some  of  those  dried  grasses,  my  boy.  His  legs  are  stilli-ned 
by  his  narrow  lodgings,  and  ship-board,  and  lack  of  exeivi-e. 
The  rope  1  Hast  thou  brought  it  ?" 

"  It  is  here,  Senor." 

"  Ah !  now  this  will  give  him  range  to  feed,  yet  keep  him  fa-t  ; 
but  an  armful  of  these  young  reeds,  with  their  fresh  leaves  upon 
them,  will  help  his  appetite.  Let  us  cut  them,  boy." 

The  grass  was  quickly  cut  with  their  machetes,  with  on.'  of 
which  each  was  properly  provided,  and  the  soft  green  cane-tops 
were  spread  before  the  haltered  animal,  who  fed  with  eagerness. 

"  It  rejoices  the  knight's  heart  to  see  his  charger  feed  with  ap 
petite.  The  grateful  beast  knows  what  we  do  for  him.  He  will 
he  content  through  the  night.  Thine  own  shall  be  brought  ashov 
to-morrow,  and  then,  if  thou  hast  never  practised  these  little 
toils,  thou  shalt  learn  from  me.  Hut  evermore  be  careful  of  thy 
steed!  In  a  strange  wild  country  !!!•<•  this,  of  the  Apalachian,  if 
he,  fail  thee,  thou  art  lost.  Never  feel  thyself  at  ea-e  until  thou 
see-t  him  eat  and  drink  with  a  will;  and  it  were  well  always  to 
give  him  chance  to  wallow  in  the  sands.  A  little  toil,  i 
taken,  ere  thou  sleep'st  thyself,  and  thy  steed  sleeps  well  aU>  : 
and  thy  own  conscience  is  at  peace  in  thy  bosom,  and  thy  safety 
is  so  far  secure.  But  remember  thy  beast,  always,  if  thou 
wouldst  sleep  with  a  irood  oonaoit 

And  thus,  as  they  eared  for  the  want- and  comforts  oft; 
hint  destrier,  did  Yasconselos    speak  to  his  page;   and   the  latter 
occasionally  murmured    a   sentence    in   reply  or  inquiry  ;   but    it 
was  a  delightful  thing  to  see  how.  first,  they  eared  for  the  animal, 
liefore    seeing    how  they  themselves    had    wants.      Juan    found  a 
strange  -at  i-taet  ion.  thus  employed,  the  more  perhaps,  becau-c  1.  • 
toiled  for  such  ft  master;   and  as  he  pa-sed  (lie  rough,  dry  gl 
of  the   forest  over  the    animal's  sides  and  thi-jhs.  hi- arms  -oine- 
linies  cro  sing  wjth  those  of  tin-  Lr"<  >d  knight,  and  their  eyes  meet- 
ing,  and  the  gentle  word-  of  the  latter  melting  into   his  ears,  the, 
neart  of  the  hoy  beat  with  emotions  of  a  singular  pleasure,  such 
as  he  had  seldom  felt  before.    Tin-  ho;  90  *t  ripped  and  chaf 
bU  furniture  hidden  away  in  the  thicket  at  hand,  but  alwa. 


884  VASCONSELOS. 

venient,  they  selected  their  own  place  of  repose.  The  dried 
leaves  of  the  forest  furnished  a  surticient  couch;  the  forest  pines 
and  other  trees  yielded  a  goodly  shelter.  The  evening  was  calm 
and  grateful.  The  warm  serenity  of  the  season  required  no 
closer  lodgings.  The  most  perfect  repose  prevailed  throughout 
the  forest,  and  save  the  clamor  made  by  the  troops,  not  a  sound 
was  to  be  heard,  whether  on  land  or  sea.  The  soldiers  dis 
persed  themselves  about  the  woods,  chose  their  places  of  repo-o 
as  Vasconselos  had  done,  but  without  any  regard  to  his  precau 
tions.  They  saw  no  danger,  and  apprehended  none,  as  they  IH> 
held  no  foe,  and  all  was  confidence,  and  all  was  excitement. 

"Surely,  Senor,"  said  Juan,  "these  quiet  woods  harbor  no 
enemies." 

"  It  is  in  the  quiet  seas,  Juan,  that  the  shark  prevails.  In  the 
tempest  he  retires  to  his  ocean  caverns.  The  wolf  prowls  in  the 
stillness  of  the  night.  The  adder  is  a  great  traveller  in  the  dark 
hours.  It  is  because  these  forests  are  so  quiet  now.  that  I  feel 
there  are  enemies  at  hand.  But  let  us  sup  ere  we  speak  of  them, 
icst  we  forfeit  something  of  appetite.  Where  is  thy  wallet  ?' 

It  was  produced.  The  page  displayed  its  contents,  and  stood 
in  waiting. 

"  Sit.  boy,  and  eat  with  me.  Thou  art  my  companion,  child, 
not  slave.  Sit !" 

With  a  strange  tremor  in  his  limbs,  and  vacant  look  which 
did  not  escape  the  eye  of  Philip,  the  boy  took  hi-  seat  before 
him,  but  scarcely  nigh.  This  emotion  the  knight  ascribed  to 
the  humility  of  the  page.  He  strove  to  soothe  this  by  conde 
scension,  by  the  utmost  gentle.ne.ss  of  manner  and  fondness  of 
discourse  ;'but  the  c  .Vcct  was  not  such  as  he  expected— not,  just 
then,  at  lea-t. 

'•Time  will  wear  oil" these  fears,"  said  the  knight  to  himself, as 
he  broke  the  bread  and  passed  it  to  the  boy. 

••  Kat.  .Juan!     Thou  wilt  need  to  learn  how  to  eat  and  sleep  at 

al!  seasons;   if  thou  wouldst  become    a  soldier.      We  shall   h;i\e 

to  wake  and  fight,  when  it  shall  nut  please  us.  the  summons;   and 

sh;i!!  t,nt  be  summoned   to  our  food   always,  or   our  sleep,  when 

•  m.i^t  th,.  appetite  shall  call  for  both." 

When  l!n'V  had  supped,  Philip  said — 

••  Now.  Juan,  thou  wilt  watch  while  I  sleep.  I  will  take  advan 
tage  .,f  ihe  early  hours  of  the  night,  when  the  red  man  seldom 
prowls  MI-  strik',^.  anil  in  the  middle  of  it.  I  will  wake,  or  thou 
shall  waken  ni".  th::t  I  may  1:-kr  thy  place  a-,  waHier  for  the  rest 
of  the  nii:hl.  See.  from  this  plaer.  where  we  both  lie  concealed, 
von  ore  enabled  to  note  ail  that  happens  around  you  for  soma 


NIGHT-WATCH.  885 

distance  You  will  observe  who  approaches  ;  note  all  things  that 
s«em  ur  wonted  ;  and  arouse  me  instantly.  Do  riot  trust  to  \<".u- 

own  courage,  or  weapon,  wholly,  if  it  need  that  any  thing  !,«• 
done!  See,  on  every  side  hut  one,  lies  the  encainpineiit.  <  Mi 
the  left,  the  interval  is  open  which  separates  is-,  from  the  dcnsei 
foiv-t.  Fn>m  that  quarter  the  dai:grr  may  :iri>i-.  \Yafch  tlmi 
well  !  Behind  us.  at  a  little  distance.  i<  the  -,  ;,  ;  in  which,  with 
3  few  fleet  hounds,  we  may  luiry  our  forms  from  an  encmv.and 
ne  within  speech  and  succor  from  the  ships.  Trmu  canst  watch 
r<>r  three  goodly  hours,  without  feeling  the  heavy  weight  of  sleep 
upon  thec.  That  time  over,  I  shall  sun-ly  rise'  to  relieve  I 

iiould  I  not,  do  thou  then  awaken  me.'" 

AVithout  further  speech.  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  in  \\\<  armor, 
as  he  Mood,  threw  himself  at  length  at  the  foot  oft  lit-  irreat  I 
His  hand  grasped  his  sword,  which  he  had  unstrapped  from  his 
shoulders.  It  was  not  long  lu-foiv  he  slept  ;  f<,r  he  was  one  of 
those  to  whom  the  e.xperienre  of  such  a  life  had  taught  the  wis- 
lom  of  securing  and  I'licouraging  the  blessinj  -hen- 

he  could,  knowini:.  a-  he   had   *.iid   to  Juan,  that    the   sum 
mons  to  arouse  for  hattle  might  come  at  anv  moment  in  a  Mil 
country,  and  might    not    always   plea-e   the'sh-eper;   and  he  pos. 

nty  of  Commanding  sleep  at  almost  any  momoit. 
He  slept  ;   and  gradually  the  hoy  drew  nearer,  crawling  s..ftlv. 
to  the   head    of  the    knight,  whoso   face  Was  turiM-d  upon  tfie  si.'le 
fppoxit,..       But    witli    thi^    scarcely    aiidihle    movement,    Philip 
snowed  himself  restless.      The  l.oy  receded,  and  gatherini:  up  his 
-Low.  raised    it    to   the   level  o£  the  eye.  an-1  rang.'.l  it  from 
side  to  side,  upon   the   opm    >paees   between    the   trees   in  front. 
The  stars  shorn-  very  1. rightly,  and   in   that    region   served  to  re 
veal  ohjecN  of  small  si/e  at  con-ideral»le   distance.      Juan    m 
tated  within  him-elf  very  seriously  the  question  : 

u  What  if  some  red    warrior  -hould  sud.h-nlv  appear?" 
His  heart   heat  with  quickened   pulses,  as  he  asked  the  ques 
tion. 

"Should   I   have   the   strength,   th.  .  the  confideii. 

dlOOt  ?— Hut  he  hade  in,-  not  !      1  was  to  awaken   him.      I  was  to 

h  only,  and  report  th.'  danger/' 

He  laid  the  how  aside,  and  onoe  more  crept  clos.-lv  to  the 
sleeping  cavalier.  The  lace  ,,f  n,i|jp  xvas  stin  averf.'d.  P,,,t 
the  hoy  did  not  *,.,.„,  anxious  to  <ra/e  upon  it.  1!  ap- 

I'«-.fi'«-d  to    !  ,.    attained  when  h.-  WM  l.cside  },im.      r\  her. 

quietly,  his  eyes  lo,,kini:  out  with  suflleimt  watchfulness,  ;,  • 
enough,  hut  \\ith   a   s,  :  ;•!,,,,  \n  i[}l\lc  ()t|1(.r  ,;, .;,^  ,,,-  slir. 

rey.     With  hands  clasped  upon  his  lap,  he  yielded  himself  up  to 


886  VASCONSELOS. 

fancies,  dreaming  and  delicious,  yet  so  touched  witn  a  peculiar 
sadness,  that  the  bitter  predominated  over  the  sweet,  and  the  big 
tears  might  be  seen,  moulding  themselves  into  melancholy  jew 
els  in  the  starlight,  rounding  themselves  gradually  upon  his  cheek, 
and  dropping  one  by  one,  as  they  grew  to  brilliants.  The  hours 
swam  along  with  the  stars,  and  the  stars  waned  in  their  silent 
progress  for  the  blessing  of  other  eyes,  and  the  eyes  of  Juan 
drooped  at  last  with  the  heaviness  upon  them.  He  strove  tc 
shake  off  the  drowsiness  which  he  felt ;  but  there  was  something 
in  that  foreign  atmosphere  which  could  not  be  withstood,  and 
while  he  strove  to  range  along  the  barrel  of  the  cross-how. 
(which  he  had  taken  up  with  some  vague  notion  that  it  would 
keep  him  wakeful,)  over  the  intervals  which  spread  between  him 
and  the  gloomy  shadows  of  the  wood  which  he  had  been  espe 
cially  enjoined  to  watch  ; — it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  wood  jt- 
self  were  swimming,  like  waves  of  the  sea,  and  as  if  the  stars 
descended  to  the  plain,  only  to  ascend  once  more ;  to  and  fro  ; 
upward  and  downward  and  onward,  till  all  things  appeared  to 
mix  and  mingle  in  his  sight.  Then  suddenly,  ho  started,  with  a 
strange  confusion,  as  he  fancied  he  heard  the  voice  of  Don  Philip. 
This,  for  a  moment,  aroused  him  ;  but  looking  down,  he  saw- 
Don  Philip  still  sleeping ;  and,  satisfied  to  see  thus,  he  was  con 
scious  of  little  more  after  this  for  some  time,  though  he  might 
have  been  just  as  watchful  as  before.  But  very  soon  after  this, 
Don  Philip  really  awakened.  He  found  the  boy  fast  asleep,  with 
his  arm  thrown  over  his  neck.  He  gently  unloosed  it,  and  rose. 

"  Poor  boy  !"  said  the  knight — "  Thou  hast  taken  on  thee  a 
perilous  labor,  which  thy  slight  figure  wilt  scarce  endure.  But 
sleep,  and  I  will  watch  thee.  I  could  wish  thee  stronger,  for  my 
sake,  no  less  than  thine  ;  for  verily,  of  all  this  host,  1  have  now 
none  but  thee  !"  After  a  pause — "  And  there  is  that  about  the 
child  which  binds  me  to  him  ;  which  makes  me  love  him  almost 
Wherefore?  It  is  because  1  am  alone!  It  is  because  the  nature 
of  the  strong  man  requires  a  charge,  a  trust,  a  burden,  *o  that 
his  strength  shall  be  healthfully  at  exercise;  so  that  his  rr'iscles 
shall  not  shrink,  lacking  due  employment !  Well !  I  wul  pro 
tect  and  help  him  so  long  as  I  can  help  any  tiling,  and  LT  — but 
why  look  into  the  vast  vacancy  of  that  dark  realm  oi  tne  future, 
in  which  no  flower  shall  ever  grow  for  me  f ' 

He  rose  suddenly,  as  if  startled ;  seized  his  sword,  buckled  it 
to  his  side,  and  caught  up  the  cross-bow  of  the  page.  He  stole 
forward  a  few  paces,  and  seemed  to  listen  ;  then  returned  to  his 
place,  and  laid  the  bow  again  by  the  side  of  the  sleeping  Juan. 
His  next  attentions  were  bestowed  upon  his  steed  The  beast 


ALARUMS.  387 

had  eaten  plentifully,  and  now  slept;  but  raised  his  ncad.  and 
seemed  to  recognize  his  master  as  he  drew  nigh.  Philip  patted 
his  neck  affectionately,  then  bade  him  rise,  and  proceeded  with 
the  utmost  care  and  sileiiee  to  put  on  his  war  harness,  his  saddle 
ami  bridle,  and  have  him  in  readiness  for  instant  use.  But  he 
did  not  loose  the  animal  ;  simply  shortened  his  halter  that  he 
illicit  not  again  lie  down.  Meanwhile,  every  thing  was  still  as 
death  in  the  encampment.  Philip  saw  no  sentinels  ;  heard  no 
guards  relieved;  knew  nothing  of  the  cautionary  steps  which 
Don  Yasco  Porcallos  might  be  supposed  to  have  taken.  The 
night  wa-s  lapsing  towards  the  dawn.  This  he  felt  in  the  coolness 
of  the  atmosphere.  He  stole  cautiously  out  to  the  edge  of  tin- 
wood  in  his  quarter  of  the  camp,  and  looked  to  the  black  ran^i- 
of  the  forest  beyond.  Nothing  was  stirring,  not  a  leaf  seem* •<! 
to  be  disturbed,  in  the  cold  thin  air  of  the  morning. 

-  Well,"'  said  he,  as  he  returned  to  where  he  left  the  boy 
sleeping,  ••  it  may  he,  that  we  shall  escape  to-night  The  sav.-i. 
perhaps,  have  not  yet  had  time  for  a  gathering  of  their  warriors. 
They  would  otherwise  have  never  sutlered  the  night  to  pa-s. 
without  giving  us  a  taste  of  battle.  I  know  them  of  old;  fierce, 
iv-tless.  impatient,  fearless  :  cunning  as  valiant  ;  and  never  relent 
ing  in  their  purposes.  \Ve  shall  see  enough  of  them  yet,  though 
we  escape  them  now." 

He  returned  to  his  late   resting-place.     Juan  was  still  bound 

fast  in  the  embrace  of  sleep.  He  threw  himself  beside  the  bov. 
and  in  the  imperfect  light  of  the  stars,  which  looked  down 
through  the  openings  of  the  trees  he  steadily  perused  his  fu 
tures.  In  this  examination  the  interest  of  the  knight  appeared  to 
be  very  great,  and  the  study  seemed  to  sadden  him.  Hut  the 
bronze  feature-,  in  the  imperfect  starlight,  revealed  nothing.  The 
face  was  sweet  and  girlish,  and  the  face,  if  fair,  mi^ht  be  count 
ed  beautiful.  So  the  musing  knight  thought,  duriiin  the  loni: 
watch  of  hours  which  he  maintained  beside  the  unconscious  \,<>\. 
Hut  he  was  not  -uti'eivd  to  continue  the  unembarrassed  study,  un 
til  the  better  lii/nt  of  the  morning  should  enable  him  to  peruse 
the  intelligible  features.  He  lancied  that  lie  heard  unwonted 
sounds;  a  stick  was  broken  in  the  woods.  His  steed  whinnie.i 
There  was  an  interruption  of  the  silence  which  he  could  not  de 
fine,  and  sei/ing  his  sword,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  quietly  stole 
nway  to  v,  here  his  steed  was  fastened. 

Meanwhile,  .luan  sl.-pt  on,  never  once  conjecturing  aught  of 
the  sad  and  >il«-nt  watch  which  the  «.'«>•  »d  knight  had  kept  above 
him.  Hut  he  was  awakened  rudely  from  his  drean..  At  that 
moment,  Vascvnselos  heard  a  cry,  that  sounded  in  his  ears  like 


888  VASCONSELOS. 

the  voice  of  a  woman.  It  appeared  also  to  proceed  from  the  spot 
where  Juan  had  been  left  sleeping.  He,*  by  this  time,  had  ven 
tured  out  again  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  was  looking  over 
the  intervening  space  towards  the  dark  forests  lying  beyond. 
The  cry  alarmed  him;  though  it  bore  no  resemblance  to  the. 
usual  whoop  of  Indian  battle.  It  might  be  that  some  wild 
boast  had  found  his  way  to  where  the  boy  slept — the  panther's  en- 
is  like  that  of  a  child  or  girl, — and,  with  excited  pulses,  and 
the  blood  rapidly  coursing  through  his  veins,  Philip  darted  hack 
to  the  place  where  the  boy  was  left.  He  reached  the  spot  just 
in  time  to  discover  two  dark  forms, — clearly  men, — who  were 
drawing  Juan  away  to  the  thickets.  He  readily  divined  the 
purpose  in  the  action.  Again  a  shriek  :  and  this  time  he  knew 
it  for  the  boy's;  but  so  full  of  a  feminine  terror,  that  his  heart 
sickened  as  he  thought  of  the  strange  simplicity  and  ignorance 
which  had  prompted  one  so  feeble  to  venture  upon  an  enterprise 
so  perilous.  He  thought  and  felt  thus,  even  in  that  moment  of 
alarm.  He  saw  that  the  boy  struggled,  and  he  further  saw  that 
the  dusky  forms,  by  whom  he  had  been  seized,  were  brandishing, 
each,  a  heavy  mace  above  his  head.  There  was  no  time  for 
further  thought,  or  for  hesitation.  To  dart  forward,  and  with  a 
single  stroke  of  his  keen  sword,  to  smite  down  one  of  the  assail 
ants  ;  to  grasp  the  other  by  the  throat  and  tear  him  from  the 
boy,  then,  as  he  staggered  back,  to  run  him  through  the  body, 
— was  the  work  of  a  few  moments.  The  two  savages  lay  at  his 
feet  in  the  agonies  of  death.  The  boy  staggered,  gasping,  towards 
him,  an  hysterical  sob  only  breaking  from  his  lips.  With  a  sleru 
voice,  the  knight  said: — 

"Seize  thy  cross-bow,  Juan,  and  collect  thyself.  This  is  no 
time  for  fears.  The  Apalachian  is  on  us." 

To  confirm  his  words,  at  that  very  instant,  the  wild  yells  of 
the  savages  rose  up  in  all  quarters  of  the  encampment.  Tin1 
Spaniards  struggled  out  of  sleep  only  to  encounter  their  enemies 
The  sentinels  had  slept.  Few  were  awa^e.  The  surprise  was 
complete. 

"Follow  me,"  cried  Philip  to  the  boy,  and  his  stern  accents, 
by  enforcing  obedience,  in  some  derive  disarmed  Juan  of  his 
terrors;  at  all  events,  he  obeyed.  He  followed  by  instinc!.  en»s. 
bow  in  hand,  and  was  at  the  side  of  the  knight  as  the  latter 
leaped  upon  his  steed. 

"Up  with  thee,  behind  me,  boy — we  have  not  a  moment." 

And  the  light  form,  a^i-tcd  by  the  powerful  arm  of  Philip, 
sprang  at  once  upon  the  -teed.  The  spur  was  instant ly  driven 
into  the  beast's  sides,  and  he  was  made  to  go!  The  wild  rush, 


TliE    CONFLICT.  389 

the  monstrous  form,  thr  gigantic  bulk,  of  the  animal,  made  its 
impre^inn.  A  hundred  naked  savages  darted  out  of  the  wood 
through  which  he  went,  and  fled  before  his  path.  The  knight 
shouted  aloud,  in  the  language  of  I'aMile  ;  then  blew  a  wild  flour 
ish  upon  his  bugle,  and  joyed  to  hear  the.  answers  of  the  Span 
iards  from  sundry  tjuarters.  'iMGO  i'oivallos  \\  as  soon  on  h< 
hack,  for  though  vain  as  a  peacock,  and  pursy  as  an  alderman. 
he  had  the  blood  and  energy  of  a  true  cavalier.  The  other  live 
troopers  were  soon  in  saddle,  and,  charging  among  the  red  men. 
now  yelling  and. darting  amidst  the  ton-Ms  in  the  doubtful  light 
of  morning,  they  soon  changed  the  character  of  the  event.  IJut. 
until  this  demonstration  of  the  knights  on  horseback,  the  affair 
was  seriously  against  the  \\hiti--.  The  Spaniards  had  been 
not  only  surprised,  but  fairly  routed.  Started  out  of  their  pro- 
foundest  sleep,  they  had  made  but  little  opposition  to  the  -a\ ... 
They  fled  in  tumultuous  confusion  to  the  sea-side,  clamoring  for 
Hiecor  to  the  ships.  Manv  of'  these  were  wounded;  all  would 
have  peri>hed.  but  for  the  spiriteil  charge  of  the  knights  on 
horseback,  and  the  strange  terrors  occasioned  by  the  In 
animals  whom  the  red  men  had  never  seen  before.  The  savages 
disappeared  in  the  ion-Ms,  a-  soon  as  they  found  them>el\es 
sei-ionsly  roiMed.  alniM-t  a-  >\\  iftly  ami  sinhlenly  as  they  had 
appeared.  N'asex  I'orcallos  was  great  I  v  delighted  with  this.  hi>  lir.st 
i-»ay  in  arms  against  tin-  Floridian.  I'xit.exeii  while  he  boated 
of  liis  pi-.i \\c-x.  hi-,  noble  Meed  t'.-ll  suddenly  dead  bein-atli  him, 
slain  by  an  arrow  which  had  buried  itsidf  out  of  sight  in  his 
hody.  \Vlu-u  ihey  reached  the  -hoiv.  the  red  men  ail  di-p»-r>ed, 
and  tin-  troops  issuing  in  boats  with  drum  and  trumpet  from  the 
shipping,  .luan  slipped,  from  behind  Philip  de  Va^eon-id«»<,  upon 
I  he  ground. 

••  Art  lliou  hurt.  l»»y  ?"'  demanded  the  knight. 

••  No,  S.-nor.  thanks  to  \our  care.  1  have  no  hurt." 

'•  But  thou  tremblest  still.  Juan." 

"  5Tea,  St-r:nr.  but  it  is  not  now  with  fear.      I  think  1  shall  never 
be  afraid  again."1 

buy.  thoiihast  Utsted  of  the  strife.     Many  a  warrior  who 

grew  famous  afterwards,  ha-  felt  the  terrors  of  t  d \  heart,  Juan. 
l»ut  I  had  never  |iirgi\eii  myself  hn-Ut  tlxm  been  slain.  I 
but  left  thee  for  ;t  moment,  and  thou  ^«-eM  ho\\  ihe^e  running 

.•ami'    upon    thee.      I    had  walelieil    thee   fort  wo   •_!' 
hours    as    thou  Rjept'st,  and    taiieied    \v    -Imuld    hear   nothini:  <,f 
them." 

"  Alas  !   S.-imr,  thou  1.  ;  pt,      I  kuea 


390  VASCuNiiK.  C;-1. 

not  that  I  slept.  I  knew  not  when  mine  oves  closed,  and  I  knew 
not  of  thy  awakening." 

"  I  had  too  much  tasked  thee,  Juan,"  answered  the  knight  gently. 
"  Thou  slept'st  ere  I  awakened.  It  was  thy  arm  tailing  over  my 
neck  that  awakened  me." 

"  My  arm  over  thy  neck,  Seftor  !  Oh !  what  have  I  done  ?" 
and  the  boy  hung  his  head. 

"  Foolish  boy,  and  where  is  thy  offence  in  this  ?" 

But  the  boy  turned  away  without  speaking,  and  little  did  Phili}- 
fancy  how  wildly  the  tides  were  rising  and  falling  in  his  bosom. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII  . 

"  Methinks  amongst  yon  tram, 
And  habited  like  them,  I  well  could  paw, 
And  no  one  mark  me." 

VAN  AKTITKLBX. 

IT  does  not  lie  within  the  plan  of  this  legend  to  follow  in  do 
[ail  all  the  progresses  of  De  Soto  in  his  weary  marches,  his  l,ng 
wanderings  and  fierce  battles  with  the  Floridian  and  other  In 
dian  races  of  our  country.  These  details  must  he  sought  in 
other  histories,  and  are  available  in  many,  to  the  reader.  \\ 
snail  only  notice  the  general  route  pursued  by  the  expedition, 
through  what  regions,  and  dwell  upon  those  events  only,  which 
eoneern  the  persons  of  the  drama,  with  whom  we  have  already 
travelled  through  so  many  pages. 

The  encounter  with  the  red  men  of  Apalachia,  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  took  place  almost  on  the  very  moment  of  De  Sot«>'> 
landing  in  the  country,  was  only  the  beginning  of  a  long  history 
of  conflicts.  From  tribe  to  tribe,  from  village  to  village,  If 
preyed  onward,  only  to  encounter  the  fiercest  foes,  or  the  most 
treacherous  friends.  But,  at  the  very  outset  of  his  career.  In-  re 
covered  a  Spaniard,  one  Juan  Ortiz,  who  had  been  a  follower  of 
I'amphilo  de  Narvaez,  and  had  become  a  captive  to  the  Apalach- 
ians  In  a  captivity  of  several  years,  he  had  acquired  the  lan 
guage  of  many  of  the  tribes,  and  almost  lost  his  own.  Thi- 
(jiiisit  ion  rendered  De  Soto  somewhat  independentoftheservioes  of 
IMu'lip  de  Vasconselos.  The  latter  was  soon  made  aware  of  this 
consciousness  of  independence,  on  the  part  of  the  Adelantado. 

Kager  for  the  attainment  of  the  great  objects  of  the  expedition, 
the  famous  cities,  and  the  golden  treasure,  which  were  believed 
to  be  locked  up  in  the  Apalaehian  mountains,  Soto  lost  no  tin.e 
in  unnecessary  delays.  Dispatching  his  largest  vessels  to  Ha 
vana,  with  the  view  to  cutting  oil'  all  thought  on  the  part  of  his 
followers,  of  returning  home  —  in  this  policy,  emulating  C»i 
and  other  great  leaders. — Soto  retained  but  a  single  caravi-!.  and 
two  brigantines,  to  keep  po^-»iiin  of  the  sea-coast  and  the  bay 
where  he  had  caM  anchor.  To  this  charge,  he  appointed  I', 
('aileron,  an  old  soldier.  He  next  pro.v.-d.-d  to  .-end  forth  vari 
ous  small  expeditions  into  the  count rv.  Decking  gold  and  infor 
mation.  None  of  the  partie>  ilm^  ».i-nt  forth  failed  to  cxperi< 


892  VASCONSELOS. 

curious  and  exciting  adventures  ;  but  they  do  not  affect  our  le 
gend.  We  must  not  forget,  however,  that,  from  this  moment, 
we  lose  our  famous  millionaire,  Don  Vasco  Porcallos,  whom  an 
adventure  in  a  swamp,  in  which  he  narrowly  escaped  suffocation, 
cured  effectually  of  all  his  warlike  ambition,  and  who  returned 
with  the  fleet  to  Cuba. 

Soto  set  forth  himself,  after  no  great  delay,  for  the  interior. 
His  splendid  cavalry  were  free  for  use,  by  the  employment  of 
hordes  of  captive  Indians  who  carried  the  heavy  luggage  of  the 
expedition.  His  foot  marched  at  an  easy  rate,  the  cavalry  pro 
curing  supplies,  and  clearing  the  forests  as  they  went,  In  this 
way,  the  army  marched  from  Tampa  to  Anaica,  near  the  modern 
Tallahassee.  The  brigantincs,  meanwhile,  coasting  the  shore,  dis 
covered  the  harbor  of  Ochoa,  now  Pensacola.  Moving  from 
Anaica,  Soto  marched  east,  and  successively  crossed  the  rivers 
Ockmulge,  Oconee  and  Ogechee.  He  finally  reached  the  Sa 
vannah.  These  marches  were  not  made  in  peace.  War  and  ter 
ror  hung  upon  the  footsteps  of  the  Spaniards.  Every  where  they 
met  with  foes  ; — not  such  foes  as  the  feeble  Cuban  or  Peruvian — 
but  fierce,  stern,  strong,  implacable  enemies,— accustomed  lo 
hard  blows,  and  to  a  life  of  incessant  warfare.  The  advantages 
lay  with  the  Spaniards,  but  only  as  a  consequence  of  their  supe 
rior  civilization.  They  owed  their  victories  to  their  cavalry  and 
firearms,  rather  than  their  valor.  In  this  quality,  the  Apalachi- 
ans  were  equal  to  any  people  that  ever  lived.  The  Spaniards 
proved  merciless  conquerors.  They  mutilated  where  they  did 
not  destroy,  or  desire  to  make  captive.  They  had  brought  with 
them  handcuffs  of  iron,  for  securing  their  prisoners,  and  thus 
ironed,  the  miserable  wretches  bore  the  baggage  of  their  captors 
through  the  wilderness.  Their  conquest  was  not  easily  made. 
Thousands  of  the  red  men  perished  in  the  conflict,  and  the  Span 
iards  did  not  always  escape.  It  was  not  easy  to  ride  down  these 
fierce  savages.  Many  of  the  whites  perished.  De  Soto,  himself, 
had  several  narrow  escapes  in  close  personal  conflict,  in  which,  but 
for  his  companions  in  arms,  he  must  have  been  slain.  We  nerd 
not  say  that,  on  all  these  occasions,  Philip  de  Vasronselos  main 
tained  himself  according  to  his  reputation.  He  suffered  no  dis 
aster.  His  page  was  equally  fortunate.  The  latter  had  risen  in 
his  master's  esteem,  as  he  had  subsequently  shown  more  courage 
than  had  been  promised  by  his  first  encounter,  at  the  landing  of 
the  troops.  From  that  moment,  he  exhibited  no  signs  of  fear. 
He  was  ever  near  the  good  knight,  and  proved  always  iva<ly  with 
the  cross-bow.  Of  what  efVeet  were  the  arrows  lie  di-charged, 
we  have  no  means  of  knowing.  Enough  that  he  contrived  to 


ISOLATION    OF    PHIL  IT.  393 

satisfy  the  sj>ectators — if  any  may  be  thought  to  have  been  spec- 
tators  at  such  a  time,  and  in  such  fields — of  his  stoutness  of 
heart  and  readiness  of  aim.  Philip  de  Vaseonselos  himself  was 
satisfied,  and  felt  more  at  case  in  respect  to  the  boy's  safety,  than 
he  had  been  at  the  first  opening  of  the  campaign. 

He  \\as  more  than  satisfied  in  oth«T  respects.  The  boy  proved 
an  intelligent  eompanion.  In  his  society  the  knight  found  solace, 
and  oft  el!  did  lie  feel  surprise,  at  the  equal  taste  and  intellect.  60 
diileivnt  from  his  race,  which,  as  they  grew  more  ami  more  inti 
mate,  the  boy  betrayed.  <  )f  course,  Philip  had  not  forgotten 
what  Mateo  had  told'  him.  that  Juan,  the  son  of  a  five  woman  of 
the  mountains,  had  been  carefully  nurtured,  and  had  not  b 
wanting  in  such  education  as  could  be  procured  by  money,  in 
such  a  region,  during  that  early  period.  But  the  intellect  of  the 
boy  declared  for  gifts,  quite  as  much  as  acquisition — such  gifts 
as  "were  imt  often  found  in  any  other  than  the  white  ra<v.  But, 
though  Mich  exhibitions  surprised  Philip,  quite  as  much  as  they 
delighted  him,  yet  his  moods  and  present  employments  were  not 
of  a  soil  to  sutler  him  much  speculation  upon  them.  1I«  • 
after  a  while,  quite  content  to  enjoy  their  bent-fits,  in  the  solan: 
which  they  brought,  without  questioning  their  source;  and  he 
nci-ded  all  this  solace,  lie  was  still  alone,  and  still,  in  spile  of 
his  services  and  valor,  quite  as  much  as  before  an  object  of  jea 
lousy  among  the  Spaniards.  Nuno  de  Tobar,  indeed,  was  still 
his  friend,  and  he  knew  others  in  ihe  army,  who  were  kindlily 
inclined;  but  it  wa-not  often  that  the  parties  saw  each  other. 
They  were  in  dilVeivnt  command-,  and  frequently  detached  on 
expeditious,  aside  from  the  main  route.  There,  had  been  no 
ah-olute  reconciliation  between  the  Portuguese  brothers;  and 
Andres  Mill  kept  aloof;  though  we  may  state  that  his  bittern.— > 
of  mood  had  bren  modified.  But  they  rarely  met.  Philip  was 
a  fivqiieiit  volunteer  when  perilous  or  adventurous  BCrvioe  Wttfl 
required.  It  was  in  this  way.  mostly,  that  he  excivNed  his  skill 
in  arms,  ^-ive  when  summoned  to  the  special  a^Nlanre  of  the 
Adelantado.  to  whom  he  was  nominally  an  ai<lc  ;  but  this  rarely 
happened  except  wlh'ii  captives  or  embassies  were  to  !>••  examin 
ed,  and  interpretations  nnde  from  their  language.  This  requi 
sition,  too.  had  been  of  unfivqueiit  occurrence  SWOB  Jll&U  Ortiz 
had  been  recovered.  He.  lmwev»-r.  sometimes  failed  to  uuder- 
>tand  tin-  tongues  of  toreign  tribes,  and  thus  it  was  that  Philip 

need.-d.     P>ut  forth!-,  his  IIM-S  in  the  army , according  to  the 

eMini;itf-  -•••rnmgly  put  upmi  them  by  hi-  >uperior,  were  of  little 
moment. 

Philip  felt  this  treatment,  and  his  bov  allowed  that   h«-  felt  it 
17* 


394  %       VASCONSELOS. 

also.  The  two  lived  to  themselves  apart.  They  lay  beneath  the 
same  trees  at  night :  they  harnessed  their  horses  in  the  same 
glade.  They  sat  together  at  the  same  repast ;  Juan  retired  be 
hind  his  lord,  and  speaking  with  him  thus,  except  when,  at  times, 
as  finally  was  frequently  the  case,  Philip  bade  him  to  sit  beside 
him,  or  before  him — a  proceeding  which  the  knight  .adopted,  the 
I icttcr  to  encourage  the  boy,  and  to  overcome  his  excessive  >h\- 
ness.  And  he  gradually  succeeded.  The  boy,  who  shrank  from 
all  other  associations,  gradually  grew  to  him,  as  the  vine  grows 
to  the  mighty  tree.  Soon  he  came  to  speak  freely  even  of  his 
own  secret  fancies  and  emotions,  and  it  really  pleased  the  knight 
to  hearken  the  language,  still  timidly  spoken,  of  a  young  confid 
ing  heart,  possessed  of  the  deepest  and  tenderest  feelings,  which 
the  isolation  in  which  he  lived,  and  the  wild  seclusion  of  that 
realm  of  shade  and  forest,  seemed  rather  to  expand  and  deve 
lop,  than  subdue  and  overcome.  The  deep  solitude  which  re 
ceived  them  as  they  went,  seemed  to  open  the  wanner  fountains 
of  their  human  nature,  as  society  rarely  opens  them.  Thrown 
together  incessantly — forced  to  communion  by  the  repulsive 
treatment  of  the  rest — sleeping  near  each  other  by  night,  en 
countering  the  same  toils  and  dangers  by  day, — breaking  the 
same  loaf  when  they  ate,  and  naturally  inclined  to  each  other  by 
kindred  sensibilities, — it  was  soon  evident  to  each  that  the  charm 
of  their  lives  lay  chiefly  in  the  regards  of  one  another.  There 
was  a  sad  simplicity  in  both  their  natures, — a  grave  tenderness 
of  soul,  which  still  further  helped  to  cement  their  intimacy  ;  and 
it  was  soon  felt — by  Philip,  at  least, — that,  in  this  new  and 
seemingly  incongruous  relationship,  the  peculiar  pangs  and  dis 
appointments  which  he  had  experienced  in  Cuba,  were  fast  losing 
the  sharpness  and  severity  of  their  sting,  He  sometimes  won 
dered  at  himself  that  he  so  much  craved  the  companionship  of 
the  boy;  but  he  was  too  much  pleased  with  the  enjoyment  of  it 
to  question  its  sources.  When  they  were  apart  he  mused  upon 
his  fondness  with  curiosity.  Why  should  he,  a  knight  of  Portu 
gal,  feel  such  sympathy  for  this  Moorish  urchin  1  It  was  in  vain 
that  he  recalled  the  boy's  devotion  to  himself, — his  goodne^  «\' 
heart,  his  gentleness  of  mood,  the  quickness  of  his  mind,  the 
delicacy  of  his  fancy,  and  his  general  intelligence.  These  did  not 
suffice  to  account  for  the  hold  upon  his  aiK-etions  which  the  boy 
nad  taken.  In  all  his  meditation^  when  left  to  himself  he  found 
no  solution  of  his  problem.  When  the  boy  was  at  hand,  and 
they  spoke  together,  there  was  no  problem.  It  M-nned  to  him 
quite  natural,  at  such  moments,  all  the  aHection  that  he  felt, — 
all  the  sympathy  that  warmed  him  to  the  du-ky  page. 


SUSPICION.  895 

T<>  all  other-,  .l.ian  was   a  stone, --insensible,  unattrnctivc  — a 
sulh  red  an.l  silent  boy. — submissive,  but   retiring;  hum 

ble,  but  not  soliciting;  one  of  whom  nobody  entertained  thought 
or  question  ;  of  whom  tin-  common  speech  in  camp  was,  that  this 
was   ju-t    suited   to  the  haughty  and  sullen  master.     There 
an  exception  perhaps  to  this  general  judgment     Don  Bal- 
tha/ar  de  A 1  vary  was  observed  to  note  the  hoy  with  a  persevering 
.Juan  was  the  first  to  he  aware  of  this.      It  did   not  finally 

ipe  tin-  notice  of  Philip;  but  it  did  not  occasion  his  -urpri-e 
OF  Curiosity.  In  the  case  of  .luan.  however,  it  was  -oim-thing 
of  an  annoyance.  Had  he  been  watched,  it  would  have  been 
•64  n  that  he  sought  to  avoid  tlu-  eye-  of  I  Mi  Balthazar — that  lie 
was  somewhat  agitated  when  they  met  suddenly — that  he  spoke 
with  a  slight  tremor  of  voice  in  the  hearing  of  the  Don,  and  es 
pecially  when,  ta  was  sometimes  the  case,  he  was  required  to 
an-wer  hi-  demand-.  It  -ometimes  happened  that  Don  Baltha 
zar  sought  Yaseon-elos  at  his  post,  or  win-re  he  had  east  himself 

.11  forth"  night.  On  Mich  Occasions— as  he  con>idered  the 
o-tcnsible  subject  upon  which  the  former  came, — he  could  not 
forbear  mu-inn  upon  its  inadequacy  as  a  plea  for  mining.  The 
parties  did  not  love  each  other.  Their  instincts  were  ho>tile. 
There  could  not  be  any  cordiality  between  them  ;  and,  such  lu-ing 
thfcea-e.  whv  Don  Baftha/ar  should  seek  him.  unless  with  rea-on-- 
of  necessity,  was  a  frequent  subject  of  Philip's  surprise.  At  >t,rh 
times,  he  always  drew  an  unfavorable  augury  from  his  coming. 

-He  im-an-i  mischief"  said  he  aloud,  one  evening,  after  the 
departure  of  I  >o:i  Balthazar  from  the  place  wli. -re  he  had  laid 
himself  down  to  rest.  "  Why  should  he  come  to  me.  and  on 
such  pretext  '  What  is  it  to  me  whither  we  move  to-morrow, 
or  whar  new  dreams  fill  the  brain  of  the  Ad.-lantado  ?  Let  him 
march,  ea-t  <>r  west,  alonu  tin-  plains,  or  among  the  mountains, 
I  care  nothing!  and.  -tire,  he  knows  it.  He  know-,  too.  that  1 
love  not  his  serpent  nature,  and  his  -uMle  and  treacherous  • 
Ib  know-,  too.  that  1  am  not  to  In-  deceivd  in  him!  Besides, 
what  can  he  seek  of  me  ?  lam  poor  and  power!-  ~  II-  can 
win  noUiinur  from  my  weaki:>  — .  If  he  comes,  hi-  can  only  c-.me 
in  hate  1  Vet  what  hiivc  1  to  tear  '  Him  I  fear  not,  and  he  know- 
it  too.  Verily  I  believe,  that  did  he  not  fear  me.  he  would  have 

sought    to    slay    me   en-   thi-.    -ncverthcle- 1  feel    it — by    Mire 

instin. -t.  I  feefit — this  man    mean-  mischief.'' 

"  He  i-  a  villain!"  wa-  the  biu.-r  s  c<-ch  of  .luan  from  behind 
the  tree,  \\herc  he  had  crept  quietly. 

"Ha!  -luan.  arc  you  there,  boj  !  But  what  do  you  know 
about  Don  Balthazar?  Ah  !  .luan,  if  you  knew  what  I  know  of 


396  VASCON3ELOS. 

that  man — had  you  but   seen  what  mine   eyes  have  looked  OB 

"  Seen,  Senor  ? "  was  the  faltered  inquiry. 

"  Aye,  boy,  seen  !  But  it  is  not  for  you  to  hear — not  for  mor 
tal  to  hear.  Yet,  were  it  not  for  another — his  victim — one  dear 
to  me  once  as  my  own  eyes, — but  for  her, — I  had  long  simv 
taken  the  monster  by  the  throat,  and  declared  his  crime  aloud. 
while  I  strangled  him  in  deadly  punishment !  You  say  right. 
Juan;  though  you  know  nothing.  Don  Balthazar  de  A I  Varo  is 
one  of  the  blackest  of  all  the  black  villains  that  poison  and  de 
face  the  blessed  things  of  earth.  He  hath  been  my  faU — that 
man  !" 

The  boy  sobbed,  "  And  mine !"  but  the  words  did  not  reach 
the  ears  of  Philip,  and  when  he  looked  round,  and  called  again  t<> 
the  page,  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Ere  he  returned  that  night, 
Vasconselos  was  asleep.  The  boy  had  eaten  no  supper.  He  crept 
close  by  his  sleeping  master,  and  watched  over  him  for  weary 
hours,  with  big  tears  gathering  fast  in  his  eyes  the  while.  When, 
at  the  dawn,  the  knight  awakened,  he  saw  Juan  sleeping,  with  his 
head  sunk  against  his  own  shoulder,  and  the  stain  of  tears  was. 
still  upon  his  cheek. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 


'  Hell  put  it  in 
The  enemy-' •  mind  to  be  desperate." 

MASSENGER. 


WE  can  only  give  glimpses  of  a  progress,  every   form  of 

which  was  distinguished  by  its  own  ink-rot  and  capricious  vane 
ties.  We  have  shown,  thus  far,  the  relationships  of  our  parties; 
and  how  they  grew,  and  what  were  their  developments.  Kaeh 
day  gradually  contributed  to  unfold  the  increasing  dependent 
Don  Philip  and  his  page  upon  one  another;  and  both  were 
watched,  though  neither  perhaps  saw  to  what  extent,  by  the  ser 
pent  eyes  of  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro.  Meanwhile,  rhilip  de 
Vasconselos  seemed  to  grow  less  and  less  in  favor  with  the  Ade- 
lantado,  who  now  rarely  summoned  him  to  his  service  ;  and. 
e: xtvpt  when  they  met.  seemed  to  have  forgot  ten  his  existence. 
On  Such  occasions  there  was  an  evident  distance  of  manner  :>i 
the  hearing  of  De  Soto,  amounting  almost  to  repugnaiM-c.  which 
incivas.'d  the  regrets  of  Pliilip  that  he  had  ever  joined  the  BJ 
dition.  His  mortification  at  liaving  done  so.  would  have  been 
unendurable,  but  for  a  certain  indifference  of  mood,  which  ren 
dered  him  reckless  what  became  of  him. — reckless  of  all  thinu'-. 
indeed  ;  and  made  him  just  as  well  satisfied  to  rove  without  a 
purpose,  and  tiuht  without  a  cause,  as  to  sleej)  beneath  his  tree, 
when  the  day  had  closed  in  exhaustion.  Latterly,  his  fading 
Lnvw  leSfl  indifferent.  He  seemed  to  be  slowly  acquiring  a  new 
interest  in  life.  He  was  oonsdous  of  mon  impulse,  of  aim, 
and  objects,  vague,  indeed,  enough,  and  which  he  did  not  seek  to 
pursue,  but  which  served  to  show  that  life  for  him  still  had  its 
refl  luroes,  even  its  attractions,  and  was  not  wholly  denied  an 
object.  lint  if  the  question  a<  to  that  object  was  asked  of  |>..u 
Philip,  he  would  have  been  without  an  answer.  Enough  that 
mi. ler  t-xi-ting  circumstances,  he  eould  find  his  associations  still 
endurable  ;— without  an  objeet  in  life,  lie  run  Id  yet  find  life  not 
wholly  a  burden  and  a  ourt€  ! 

The   brooding  mind  was  not  sutll-red  much  opportunity  B 
ercise,  in  the  progress  pursued  by  De  Soto.    That  ambitious  chief- 
tain,  in   his  appetite  for  e«mqueM    and    power,  kept    his  follower! 
sleepless.      \Ve    nia\     now,  with   tolerable    certainty,  f.-liow    the 
route  of  the  Spaniards  upon  th»>  ii'ap. -ind  trace  their  course  from 


398  VASCONSELOS. 

the  Bay  of  Tampa,  into  and  through  Georgia,  even  to  South 
Carolina.  Their  progress  was  erratic.  They  were  easily  tempted 
aside  by  lures  of  gold,  in  this  or  that  quarter ;  and  the  imperfect 
ly  understood  reports  of  this  or  that  Indian  guide,  frequently 
misled  them  from  the  direct  course,  to  wild  ad  ventures,  and 
strange  episodes,  which  diverted  them  from  the  true  discovery. 
In  all  their  progresses  danger  hung  upon  them  in  the  rear,  and 
disappointment  stood  in  waiting  for  their  approach.  One  or  two 
adventures  briefly  narrated,  will  serve  to  il  lust  rat  e  their  daily 
history  ;  and  we  linger  over  a  single  instance,  which  enabled 
Vasconselos  to  recover  a  portion  of  De  Soto's  favor. 

There  was  a  Floridian  phieftain,  or  King,  named  Vitachuco, 
who  had  stubbornly  resisted  all  the  approaches  of  Soto.  The 
latter,  by  treachery,  contrived  to  secure  the  person  of  this  Chief 
tain.  His  next  object  was  to  win  his  favor — a  measure  conceived 
to  be  by  no  means  difficult,  inasmuch  as  the  Adelantedo,  in 
making  captive  the  Chief,  had  slaughtered  near  a  thousand  of  his 
warriors,  who  had  sought  to  rescue  his  person.  Vitachuco,  though 
kept  as  a  prisoner,  and  watched,  was  still  allowed  certain  privi 
leges.  He  ate  at  the  table  of  Soto.  He  was  still  able  to  com 
mune  with  his  subjects,  hundreds  of  whom  were  employed  about 
the  Spaniards,  as  slaves  and  drudges.  To  these  Vitachuco  com 
municated  his  secret  thoughts  and  purposes.  He  was  not  a 
willing  captive.  But  he  was  politic.  He  met  subtlety  with 
subtlety.  He  suppressed  his  indignation, — appeared  not  to  see 
the  restraint  put  upon  his  footsteps,  and  so  behaved,  as  entirely 
to  disarm  the  suspicions  of  his  captors.  But  the  fiery  indigna 
tion  was  working  in  his  soul,  and  he  only  wanted  the  proper 
moment  and  opportunity,  in  which  to  break  his  bonds,  and 
avenge  himself  upon  his  captors.  This  design  was  reserved  for 
a  day  of  feasting,  when  Soto  entertained  his  captive  along  with 
other  nobles  and  princes  of  the  Apalachiano,  held  in  similar 
bonds  with  their  superior,  or  of  other  tribes  whom  he  desired  to 
conciliate.  Vitachuco  was  too  impatient  of  his  injuries  to  think 
wisely,  or  to  resolve  with  prudence.  lie  did  not  heed  the  fact 
that  himself  and  followers  were  unarmed,  and  were  to  grapple, 
;f  grapple  they  did,  with  foes  who  never  laid  aside  their  weapons 
or  their  mail.  The  fearless  savage  resolved  to  try  the  struggle 
at  all  odds,  unprepared  as  he  was,  at  the  approaching  repast;  of 
which  he  had  due  intimations.  The  four  pages  or  servants,  that 
waited  upon  him,  were  all  boys,  but  he  entrusted  them  with  his 
secret.  They  communicated  with  such  warriors  as  he  himself 
could  not  see  ;  and  the  plan  was  rapidly  matured  for  execution 
the  very  next  day,  being  the  day  assigned  for  the  feasting. 


TKKACHEKV.  899 

According  to  their  plan.  Yit.n-huri.  \\as  to  spring  upon  the  Ade- 
lantado,  and  kill  him  if  he  could,  while  they  were  at  dinner;  his 
followers  doing  the  same  good  service  for  all  the  Spaniards  pre 
sent — and,  without,  tor  all  others  upon  whom  they  could  lay 
hands.  Tin-  village  of  Yitaehuco  was  to  be  the  seeiie  of  action. 

It  happened,  the  evening  he-fore  the  event,  that  Juan,  the  page 
of  Vasconselos.  ivmarked  the  activity  «>f  Vitaehuco's  pages,  and 
that  they  held  fivniient  eoininiinications  with  their  people. 
Crowds  of  the  red  men  were  seen  coming  to  the  encampment. 
or  crowding  stealthily  ubout  it.  The  place,  where  Vascoi,- 
found  shelter,  usually,  on  the  verge  of  the  encampment,  was  fa- 
vorable  to  observation ;  and  the  constant  coming  and  departure 
of  the  Floridians,  compelled  the  boy's  observation,  and  prompted 
him  to  communicate  with  the  knight,  his  master.  They  both 
watched,  and  discovered  enough,  at  all  events,  to  render  them 
suspicious.  They  redoubled  their  vigilance,  and  found  that  some 
provisions,  rather  novel  for  a  feast,  had  been  made  by  the  sava- 
Thcy  found  hidden  in  the  contiguous  wood-,  large  bundles 
of  darts,  barbed  with  flints,  that  were  ready  for  use;  and  scores 
of  huge  mat-anas  or  war  maces,  edged  with  flint  also,  a  single 
hlow  from  which,  in  a  moderately  strong  hand,  would  cleave  the 
skull  of  any  Spaniard,  though  covered  with  helm  of  steel. 

T»  effect  these  discoveries, and  to  guard  in  some  degree  against 
the  designs  of  tin-  savages,  by  putting  the  army  on  the  qui  vice, 
\\;is  a  work  of  time,  and  the  Adelantado  was  alreadv  at  dinner 
with  his  treacherous  guests,  ere  1'hilip  de  Yascon*elos  was  pre 
pared  to  unfold  his  discoveKc-.  Now, — speaking  of  things 
without  regard  to  persons — the  Spaniard-  were  quite  a>  treacher 
ous  as  the  Floridians;  and  it  was  with  a  hitter  smile  and  sneer 
that  Philip,  commenting  upon  the  small  claims  of  the  former 
upon  his  fidelity,  said  to  .luan  : — 

"It  is  liar   against   liar,  serpent   against  serpent! — what  have 
we  to  do  with  it.  boy  .'      It  were  just  as  well  that  we  should 
them  strive  together,  and  clap  hands  equally  to  behold   the  good 
stroke  delivered  by   Floridian  or  Spaniard  !" 

I'.ut  !he  sympathies  of  ra«v  and  education  prevailed,  and  the 
white  chieftain,  with  a  feeling  of  unutterable  scorn,  which  II.M-..II- 
eealed  under  the  most  courtly  demeanor,  suddenly  appeared  at 
the  {-lace  of  feasti  liich  he  had  not  been  invited, — when 

all  was  mo>t  hilarious,  and  the  Adelaiitado  as  little  dreaming  of 
the  dessert  which  the  Floridian  had  provided,  as  of  anv  other 

-.  with   which  he    mi<:ht    profitably    di 

-•los.  as  we  say.  sudih-nly  appeared  within  the  circle,  and  t'or 
a  moment,  miietly  surveyed  it  withe -it  speaking. 


*00  VASCONSELOS. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  scorn  which  he  felt,  somewhat  showed 
itself  in  his  features,  or  that  the  Adelantado  was  in  no  mood  to 
behold  him  with  toleration,  whom  he  had  not  received  to  favor, 
is  not  easy  to  be  said.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  Soto  some 
what  forgot  his  courtesy  in  the  reception  which  he  gave  the 
knight  of  Portugal.  With  a  stern  look  and  chilling  accents,  he 
cried  out,  as  he  beheld  him  : — 

"  How  now,  Sir  Knight  of  Portugal,  what  is  it  brings  you  to 
this  presence  at  this  unseemly  moment?  We  had  not  anticipat 
ed  the  honor  of  your  attendance." 

The  brow  of  the  knight  of  Portugal  grew  black  as  he  replied : 

"  Senor  Don  Hernan  de  Soto,  Philip  de  Vasconselos  asks  no 
favor  or  courtesy  from  any  man  alive  !  He  comes  not  now  as  a 
courtier,  or  as  a  guest,  but  as  a  soldier,  who  shrinks  from  no  duty 
even  when  it  needs  that  he  should  appear  where  lie  is  never  wel 
come  !  What  I  have  to  say,  by  way  of  apology  for  my  presence 
now,  is  soon  spoken.  Ask  of  the  savages  whom  you  feast,  why 
our  camp  is  girdled  by  a  thousand  red  warriors,  why  the  pages 
of  their  prince  have  been  in  such  frequent  communion  with  them, 
and  why,  all  on  a  sudden,  such  provision  as  this  is  made,  at  con 
venient  places,  in  all  the  neighboring  woods  ?" 

Saying  these  words,  he  took  from  an  attendant,  and  threw 
down  upon  the  board,  and  amidst  the  guests,  bundles  of  darts, 
wrapt  in  skins  of  the  rattle-snake,  and  a  score  of  the  heavy 
macanas,  such  as  we  have  described  already.  At  the  sight  of 
these  objects,  and  before  the  Adelantado  could  reply  to  what  he 
conceived  the  insolent  speech  of  Vasconselos — insolent  in  sense 
as  in  tone — the  war-whoop  rang  wildly  through  the  hall ;  a  ter 
rible  yell  that  shook  the  hearts  of  the  assembly,  as  with  a  sudden 
voice  of  doom.  Vitachuco,  from  whom  the  signal  came,  started 
to  his  feet  at  the  same  moment,  and,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
he  sprang,  like  a  tiger,  full  upon  Soto.  With  one  hand  he 
seized  him  by  the  collar,  while,  with  the  other,  he  dealt  him  such 
a  blow  between  the  eyes,  as  made  the  blood  fly,  and  prostrated 
the  Adelantado  to  the  floor,  as  heavily  as  falls  the  ox  beneath  the 
stroke  of  the  butcher! 

All  was  confusion  in  that  moment.  Terribly  did  this  war- 
whoop  of  the  savages  ring  throughout  the  hall  ; — and  without — 
through  all  the  avenues  of  the  village,  where  the  followers  of 
Vitachuco  were  collecting  at  the  signal,  as  had  been  agreed  on 
among  them.  The  Spaniards,  never  dreaming  of  attack  from  un 
armed' savages,  were  taken  completely  by  surprise.  The  Ade 
lantado  lay  stunned  and  senseless  beneath  the  grasp  of  Vita 
ohucu.  and  all  was  confusion.  :»nd  uncertainty,  within  and  with 


SUDDEN    CONFLICT.  401 

out.  The  Indians,  every  \\ln-iv.  sei/ed  whatever  implements  they 
could  lay  hands  upon  for  weapons.  Some  grasped  the  pikes  and 
swords  of  the  Spaniards  ;  others  snatched  the  pots  from  the  fire, 
and  emptied  the  content-  <>\t T  their  lues,  while  beating  them 
about  the  head  with  the  vessels.  Plates,  pitchers,  jars,  the  pea- 
ties  from  the  mortars  wherein  they  pounded  maize ;  stools, 
1  tenches,  tables,  billets  of  wood  ;  in  the  hands  of  the  fierce  Flo- 
ridians  became  instruments  of  war  and  vengeance  !  Never  had 
such  a  fight  been  seen;  so  promiscuous  ;  urged  with  such  novel 
wrapon>  ;  and  so  full  of  terror  and  confusion.  The  terror  and 
danger  of  the  scene  were  duly  increased  by  others  yet,  who, 
plucking  the  flaming  brands  of  lightwood  from  the  fire,  darted 
into  the  thickest  of  the  fray,  shouting  like  furies,  and  looking 
more  like  demons  from  the  infernal  regions  than  mere  mortal 
combatants  ! 

Such  was  the  scene  and  the  character  of  the  struggle  through 
out  the  village.  The  Spaniards  recovered  themselves  promptly 
and  fought  desperately,  and  conquered  finally  ;  but  they  suffered 
severely.  Besides  those  who  perished,  many  were  terribly 
bruised,  scalded,  burnt,  and  maimed.  Arms  were  broken,  teeth 
knocked  out,  faces  scarred  forever;  the  very  handcuffs  on  the 
wrists  of  many  of  the  savages,  becoming  fearful  means  of  in 
jury  and  assault  in  the  promiscuous  and  close  struggle,  hand  to 
hand. 

In  the  hall  of  the  great  house  of  the  village  where  the  Ade 
.antado  had  feasted  the  Cassique,  the  conflict,  though  involving 
smaller  numbers,  was  no  less  fearful  and  savage  in  its  character. 
But  for  the  presence  of  Philip  tie  Vaseonsdos,  and  his  active 
energies  and  vigilance.  So!.,,  and  all  the  party,  must  have  pe 
rished.  The  Adelantado.  as  we  have  seen,  was  stunned  by  the 
first  desperate  assault  of  the  Indian  Chief.  The  latter  dm 
hi-  victim,  and  wouM  very  soon  have  finished  his  work,  but  for 
tin-  quick  movement  of  Philip,  who  darted  to  the  rescue,  and 
pa--ed  his  sword  through  the  body  of  the  savage,  while,  tiger-like, 
lie  was  tearing  the  neck  of  the  Adelantado.  The  Spanish  knight-, 
at  this  sight,  recovered  troin  their  consternation,  and  a  d"/.-n 
sword*  were  Crossed  in  an  instant  in  the  hndy  of  \  itachu.-o. 
The  furious  >avage  died  without  a  groan,  glaring,  with  fellot  : 

':  his  eneiiii«-s,  in   the  very  niom.-nt  when  his  la-t  breath  was 
pa— ing.     The  Indians  who  remained  in   the  hall  were  <li-pa:< 
in  like  manner,  but  not  before  they  had    inflicted   hurt-  upon  the 
Spaniards  which  left  their  gha-tly 'marks    through  life.      The  «  n.l 
Was  ma-saerc.       Discipline    prevailed    over    rude    and    : 
valor.     The  people    of  Yitaclnico,  thirteen  hundred  \s  :u  i  iors,  tlu« 


402  VASCOKSELOS. 

flower  of  his  nation,  perished  in  the  affair,  or  were  butchered 
after  it.  Such  is  a  sample  of  the  fierce  character  of  the  red  men 
of  Florida,  their  desperate  valor,  and  the  sleepless  passion  for 
freedom,  which  they  indulged  at  every  peril.  The  character  re 
mains  unchanged  to  this  day.  The  people  of  Vitachuco  occupied 
the  same  region  which  the  Seminoles  maintained,  with  such  sur 
prising  skill  and  courage,  for  five  years,  against  the  army  of  the 
United  States,  in  recent  times. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

PACL.  —  ''Pnl  you  note 

The  majesty  she  appears  m 
CLKON.  —  Yes.  my  p<xxl  I>ord  ; 

I  \vus  ravishrd  with  it." 


THIS  event  had  a  considerable  effect  in  restoring  V 
to  the  favor  of  De  Soto.  Tin-  Adelantado  could  not  ungracious 
ly  forbear  to  acknowledge  a  service  to  which  he  owed  his  «»wn 
life  and  probably  the  safety  of  his  army.  He.  accordingly, 
thanked  Philip  in  stately  hiiiiuaiie,  hidalgo-fashion,  in  the  i 
dice  of  ail  hi-  troops.  But  his  pride  kept  him  still  in  memorv 
of  that  haughty  reserve  of  the  Port  ugiic^-  cavalier,  which  had  >o 
offended  his  amnttr  jtropn  at  first;  and  as  Philip,  while  asc.uir.e- 
ou>ly  receiving  the  compliment  of  tin-  Adelantado,  in  a  style  not 
dissimilar  from  that  in  which  it  was  couched,  abated  nothing  of 
his  «>wn  dignity,  it  followed,  that  the  debt  which  De  Soto  felt. 
of  gratitude,  was  rather  irksome  and  burdensome,  than  grateful 
to  that  haughty  cavalier.  He  hud.  besides.  ever  at  hand,  whis 
pering  in>idious  suggestions  in  his  car,  the  wily  Don  Bultha/.ar 
\lvuro.  This  knight  did  not  sutler  the  natural  feeling-  of  !  >«• 
Soto  to  have  full  play  at  any  time,  in  his  relations  to  the  Portu 
guese.  But  for  Ms  constant  labors,  it  might  have  been  that  what 
naturally  noble  in  the  bosom  of  the  Adelantado,  would  have 
:ied  itself  to  the  extent  of  doing  full  justice  to  the  m.-ri' 
Philip;  and  giving  full  exercise  to  his  own  proper  courtesy  and 
honor.  A-  ;'  was,  the  intercourse  between  the  knight  of  Portu 
gal  and  the  Spanish  Chief,  though  more  courteous  and  gracious 
than  before,  was  scarcely  more  cordial;  and  Philip  remained,  a- 
l.efotv.  companioned  only  by  the  page  Juan,  who  clung  to  him 
n.oiv  e!»sely  than  ever,  and  grew  daily  more  and  moreiicre>sury 
to  his  atl'ectior.s. 

We  pass  now  over  a  considerable  tract  of  time,  of  which  we 
shall  make  no  record,  but  which,  though  full  of  toils  and  stri 
trials  and  vici>-itude-,  found   our  dramatis  personal  unchanged  in 
their  several  relations.   The  army,  meanwhile,  hud  marched  from 
Florida    into  Georgia,  had  crossed   th,  :iid    at    length    ap 

proached  the  waters  of  :he  Savannah.      In  the  provii..-,-  ..f  < 
however.  De  Soto  experienced  an  embarrassment  in  n'-  ; 
which  rend.  -red  it  that  Philip  de  Vase,  0  hould  be 

again  conciliated.     The  diuU-ct  of  the  red  men  changed,  and  the 


404  VASCOXSELOS. 

uterpreter,  JuaHi  Ortiz,  was  no  longer  competent  to  act  in  this 
capacity.  Philip  had  traversed  this  very  region.  lie  i<>uk  the 
place  of  Ortiz;  negotiated  with  the  Cassique  of  Cota ;  and  once 
more  had  the  satisfaction,  if  any  it  were,  or  seeing  tin-  eyes  of  the 
Adelantado  turned  upon  him  with  favor.  But  the.  Portuguese 
Knight  regarded  these  kindly  demonstrations  with  indilleivn.v. 
He  had  survived  all  care,  in  respect  to  the  carriage  of  the  Ca<- 
tilian  Captain,  and  his  followers;  and  simply  contented  himself 
with  the  performance  of  his  duty,  as  it  rose,  without  giving  any 
heed  to  the  profit  or  the  loss  which  might  follow  upon  his  toils. 
With  the  Cassique  of  Cofa,  he  concluded  an  amicable  treaty, 
which  secured  the  support  and  friendship  of  a  very  potent  savage. 
From  him,  however,  it  was  learned  that  there  were  more  power 
ful  potentates,  yet  beyond  them,  to  the  east,  whom  it  was  even 
more  necessary  to  conciliate.  Much  was  said  of  a  Princess,  or 
Queen  of  Cofachiqui, — a  province  just  beyond;  the  population 
of  which  was  very  numerous,  and  the.  territory  very  tortile.  It 
was  reported  to  be  very  rich,  also,  in  gold,  pearls,  and  other  juv 
cious  treasures.  The  young  Princess  who  ruled  the  country  had 
lately  corne  to  her  tnrone.  She  was  pronounced  to  be  beautiful 
beyond  description,  and  trie  imagination  of  the  Adelnntado  was 
greatly  inflamed  by  what  he  heard,  of  the  surpassing  beauty  of 
the  maiden,  her  vast  empire,  her  great  treasures,  and  the  wealth 
and  power  of  her  connections.  Her  blood  mingled  with  that  of 
the  great  Chieftains  and  Princes  who  ruled  along  the  waters  of 
Chatahoochie,  Alabama,  and  Mississippi.  The  Cassique  of  Cola. 
very  powerful  as  he  himself  claimed  to  be,  yet  acknowledged  his 
inferiority  to  this  Princess ;  his  incapacity  to  encounter  her  troops 
in  war,  and  the  fear  which  he  felt  of  provoking  her  hostility. 
Patofa,  the  chief  in  question,  hated  as  he  feared;  and  we  may- 
add  that,  with  savage  cunning  and  ferocity,  he  continued,  under 
the  sheltering  wing  of  the  Spaniards,  to  execute  no  little  mischief 
upon  the  people  and  country  of  the  power  which  he  loathed  and 
dreaded;  butchering  without  remorse,  and  plundering,  whenever 
he  had  the  opportunity  of  doing  so  in  secret.  For  these  reasons, 
De  Soto  was  compelled,  however  reluctantly,  to  dismiss  the 
savage  chieftain  to  his  own  country,  with  all  his  followers.  His 
policy  was  conciliation  ;  particularly  in  the  case  of  a  Prince-s  ><> 
beautiful,  so  well  connected,  so  wealthy  and  powerful,  as  her  of 
Cofachiqui,  whose  territories  he  had  already  penetrated,  and 
whose  chief  settlements,  on  the  banks  of  the  Savannah,  he  was 
now  approaching  with  all  possible  expedition. 

It  was  at  a  spot  on  the  \\vsi  -ide.  of  the  Savannah,  just  where 
the  river  sweeps  boldly  beneath  the  shining  walls  of  Silver  Bluli^ 


COFACHIQUI.  405 

that  the  Adelantado,  with  a  select  detachment  of  a  hundred 
cavalry,  and  as  many  infantry,  emerged  from  the  great  for- 
with  the  view  to  the  passage  of  the  stream.  The  noble  river  lay 
broad  before  him  in  the  cloudless  light  of  a  noon-day  sun  Or. 
the  depressed  position  which  he  occupied,  an  esplanade  of  swamp, 
liable  to  occasional  overflow  of  the  freshets  from  the  rapid  rising 
of  tin-  waters,  he  looked  up  to  the  high  banks  on  the  opposite  shore 
— now  of  Carolina — and  surveyed  a  prospect  before  him  with  un 
qualified  admiration.  The  mighty  forest  ranges  had  been  scarcely 
broken  in  any  quarter ;  and  the  gigantic  oak,  the  hickory,  the  mul 
berry,  and  black  walnut,  stood  up.  and  spread  away  in  mighty 
ranks,  solemnizing  the  scene  as  tar  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Ter 
minating  long  vistas,  rose  the  rustic  cots  and  cabins  of  the  people 
of  Cofachiqui,  stretching  in  a  half  circle,  which  followed  the  course 
of  the  stream,  and  sufficiently  nigh  to  enable  the  inhabitants  to 
take  their  ti>h  from  its  waters,  without  inconvenience,  to  their 
mimes.  Conical  mounts,  and  terraces,  artificial  areas,  consecrated 
to  religious  rites,  or  public  sports  and  gatherings,  relieved,  with 
the  villages,  the  monotony  of  the  unbroken  forest.  Upon  a  bold 
promontory  to  the  right,  surrounded  by  trees  of  the  greatest  age, 
and  most  remarkable  aspect,  rose  up  the  temple  of  the  tribe: 
a  rude  but  picturesque  edifice  of  logs,  encircled  with  pillars, 
around  which  the  wild  vine  had  been  trained  to  run.  So  that  the 
whole  fabric,  relieved  of  all  rudeness  to  the  eye,  seemed  to  be  the 
handiwork  of  the  endowing  Spring  herself;  a  green  and  purple 
trophy,  vines,  flowers  and  fruit,  worthy  to  be  the  scene  of  inno 
cent  rites,  and  the  religion  of  a  pure  and  simple-hearted  people. 
It  was  surrounded  by  tumuli — by  the  graves  of  ages,  overgrown 
in  like  manner  with  shrubs  and  vines.  In  the  recesses  of  the 
temple,  were  other  treasures  of  nature  and  trophies  of  art. 
There,  subsequently, the  Adelantado  gathered  heaps  of  pearl — 

bushels  of  treasure  to  the  Spaniards; — and  there  also  were  found 
some   melanenoly  memorials  of  their  own   and  other  European 
people.     Shields,  and    helmets,   and    daggers,  and  sj>ear-h 
ca-t  away  by  the  followers  of  Oabe/a  de  Vaca,  or  more  probably 
by  those  of  the    cruel    and    luckless  Yasquez  de  Ayllen,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Combahee,  which,  aceordinir  to  Indian  computation, 
was  but  two  days' journey  from  Silver  Bluff.     But  we  mu~: 
anticipate, 

When  the  brilliant  cavalcade  of  the  Spanish  Chieftain   arrived 
at  the    weM    bank   of  tile  Savannah,  he  found  the   opposite  shore 
rovi-red  with  <ir«'iips  of  tlie    red    iiu-n.  looking  out  and  wat 
his    approach.      The    signs    of  Vigilance     and    confident 
were  every  wheru  present  to  hi>  ,-ye.s.     The  boat.*,  were  numerous 


406  VASCOXSELOS. 

along  the  banks,  but  they  were  all  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  river 
Bands  of  warriors  might  be  scon  hastily  arraying  them>e':\vs  in 
their  rude  armor,  and  hurrying. — each  as  he  made  himself  ready 
— with  javelin,  and  spear,  and  how,  to  join   the  crowds  that  ga 
thered  by  the  river.     Con>pi«-uous  among  those  upon  the  ha- 
were  to  be  noticed  a  group  of  six  persons,  of  very  noble  app- 
ance,  all  of  whom    had    passed    the    middle  period  of  life.     To 
these,  great   deference  was  shown,  and  soon  a  great  ean»e.  pro 
pelled  by  several  strong  rowers,  approached  the  spot  \\heiv  they 
stood.      They  entered  the  canoe  in   silenee,  and,  a  moment  at 
it  shot  across  the  stream  to  the  spot  where  De  Soto  had  arrived, 
at  the  head  of  his  array.     The    fearless    chieftains  of  the    forot 
approached  him  with  a  calm  dignity,  and   a  noble    grace,  which 
struck  the  Adelantado  with  surprise,  and  compelled   his  res; 
He  soon  perceived  that  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  a  people,  very 
far  superior  to  those  whom    he  had    hitherto  encountered  in  the 
forests  of  the  Floridian — superior  in  grace  and  art,  if  not  in  valor. 
DeSoto  hastily  seated  himself  in  a  chair  of  state,  wh'u-h  he  carried 
with  him  for  occasions  like  the  present.  The  deputation  of  Chiefs 
made  three    reverences    as   they  drew  nigh, — one  to  the  east,  a 
second  to  the  west,  and  a  third  to  the  Spanish  Chieftain.     Then. 
they  spoke  through  one  of  their  party,  a  lofty  and  venerable  man, 
whose  brow  and  bearing  declared  lor  habitual  authority,  and  the 
consciousness  of  power.     He  demanded  briefly — 

"  Wherefore  do  you  come,  stranger  ?    Is  it  for  peace  or  1 
Philip  de  Vasconselos  interpreted,  and  reported  the  answer  for 
the  Adelantado  in  the  language  of  Cofachiqui. 

"For  Peace!  we  are  friends.    We  ask  only  for  a  free  p 
through  the  lands  of  your  people,  and  their  help,  with  raft  and 
canoe,  in  crossing  your  big  rivers.    We  will  pay  for  these  helps 
in  goods  of  our  country." 

A  long  and  pacific  conference  followed.  The  red  men  were  too 
well  assured  of  their  own  power  to  dread  the  small  array  of 
strangers  before  them.  They  knew  not  of  the  fearful  weapons 
which  they  bore,  and  the  powerful  arts  which  they  possessed 
At  the  close  of  the  conference,  the  Chief  of  the  deputation,  re 
peating  his  friendly  assurances,  sai«l  that  he  must  receive  the 
commands  of  Co^alla,  the  young  Queen,  his  mistress.  She  wit 
young— had  but  lately  assumed  dominion  over  them,  and  the\ 
were  required  -to  consult  deliberately  before  they  perilled  her 
authority,  or  the  peace  of  the  country,  by  any  action  of  their 
own.  But  he  did  not  doubt,  that,  from  the  generous  nature  of 
this  princ«-ss.  she  would  do  all  in  her  power  to  promote  the  ob 
»eote  of  the  strangers. 


T1IK  .   i.A.  407 

Thev  did  not  err  in  this  conjecture,     Perhaps,  their  own  report 

orompted    hiT  compliance.  or.  ;:t    ail   evi  '  ked  her  curi 

osity.     It  was  not  long  after  their  return  to  the  settlements,  when 

the  attention  of  the  Spaniard^  was  drawn  to  .-how-  of  great  i 
tie   and    preparation   along  the    opj  o-itr  -hore. 
tinned    to   gather.      Th-  odfl    of  OOOchs, 

•r  of  rattle  and    drum.  regularly  timed,  and  Hgnili- 
.   gathering    and   a    march.      While  the  Spaniard 
i-urioiis  and  anxious,  a  i  behrld    .  :rom  I'M.- 

I*,  in  the    miiUt  of  \vhi<  ianquin. 

ai;d    borne  upon  the  ihouldora  ot'  MX  able    men.  was 

ing    maiden,  who  was    ivadii\    eosu-i-ivi-il     to    Lethe    i 
of  the   country.      The   palanquin  was    wreathed    with    vines   and 
(lower-,  and  gay  -'  •  .f  stained  cotton   lloated  ai;o\r  ;: 

lu 


J  -ide.      Tlu-    i-u>liums  upon  \\  hi-.-li    tlie  damsel  iKilf 
rather   than  .-at,  w^Te  >pn-;t«l  with  roU-s  ««f  the  Bame  r'uhly  M 
rial.      She  wa>   clad    in    similar    stull's.  l.ut  of  finer  -m;. 
rich  fringe  depended   from  her  skirts  and  shf  il«i 

hair.  Mack   as   ebony,  and    glo-sily    1.  right,  lie.,' 
woven  thick  with    :  i-t-arl  ;    tV-  en- 

«d    her    neck,    falling    free    upon     h.  r   IIO-M-III.      Il(  i 
were   also   sown  with    pearl,  and    she  wore    anklet-  of  the  RI 
j-i-i  eious  decorations.      Numn-ou-  yi-.ing  girls,  lu-ar':  of 

Bowen,  and    habited  like  herself,  followed    in  her  train;   and 
\sa.-   atl.-nded    hy    g  .....  Hv    hand-    of   -peaniK  i;    and    aivln-rs.    all 
richly  and  pii-turesijiiely  hal.ited.  and  equally  prepared  for  action 
and   di>|.lay.  u  ho  l»h-\\  the 

h,  ihOOk  the  rattle,  beal    the    drum,  and    pla\«-d  upon  a  i 
of  -\  rinx  ma-h-  of  n  .•.!-.  \\  i.  -ion 

..f  -\\.-.t  but  melancholy  sound-.   Other-  k-  |.t  JM 
litter,  who-e  otliee  it  wa-    to  wave  l.efor,-   her  huge  tan-  of  parti- 
col-r.d  t'ealh.  r-.  the  plumage  of  the  wild  bird-  of  the   Fioridian, 
gathered  from  all  quarter-,  and  \\roiight  with  an  art  \\hich  1* 
the  modern  fan  of  Kurope  but  little  of  -r.|"  -riorijy  to  !"• 

In    thi-   -tate,  the   Spaniards  were   allowed  to  b.-ho':d    h- 
gress    throiiL'h    the    forest!    for   awhile,  v  hen  -he  Mi.ldi  ; 
|<-areil    in    it-  deeper  recesses  with  all  her  train.      But  h--r  •! 
pearance  \\.i-   for  a   1 

of  the  lai  i  mo-t  magnili'-'  ntly  d-  .>.  i;heu-h- 

ion-,  and  canopies,  or.d  brOfl  1  trii  •_'«•-  ai.d  .ehly  and 

variously  -tained  eott  ;:.  \\  'he  mouth  of 

a  creek  that  ran  e]o-e  1,,-i  i  the 

sylvan  temple  ot   <  ,i.      In    th  under  th- 

reclined  the  princes*  in  the  Mern,  upon  | 


408  VASCONSKLOS. 

was  attended  by  eight  beautiful  girls,  only  less  richly  habile<l 
than  herself.  Her  barge  was  accompanied,  or  rather  led,  by 
another  of  like  dimensions,  in  which  sat  the  six  chieftains  whu 
had  constituted  the  deputation.  A  cloud  of  canoes,  of  all  si/cs, 
filled  with  warriors,  followed  after  and  closed  the  pro,-. 
which  now,  under  the  impelling  strokes  of  hardy  rower-, 
made  its  way  to  the  opposite  shore.  When  arrived,  the  young 
princess,  unassisted,  hut  followed  by  all  her  train,  stept  fearlessly 
to  the  land,  and  the  Spaniards  were  greatly  struck  by  the  elegant 
grace  of  her  movements,  the  admirable  s\  mmetrv  of  her  form, 
the  beauty  and  innocence,  as  well  as  intelligence  of  her  face, 
and  the  picturesque  appropriateness  of  her  costume.  I  n-  Sc.to 

made  the  most  imposing  preparations  to  give  her  corresponding 
welcome.  Her  obeisance  to  the  Adelantado  was  full  of  ."race 
and  dignity  ;  and  this  made,  she  seated  herself  on  a  sort  of  Moo]. 
ivhieh  her  attendant  had  brought  with  her  for  the  purpose,  though 
De  Soto  motioned  her  to  the  chair  of  state  from  which  he  him 
self  had  arisen. 

A  long  and  interesting  conference  ensued  between  the  parlies, 
carried  on  through  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  on  whom,  it  was  oh 
served  by  more  than  one,  that  the  fair  princess  bestowed  the 
most  encouraging  smiles,  speaking  with  as  much  sweet i. 
ease  and  dignity.  But  the  sad  face  of  Philip  never  once  changed 
through  the  whole  conference.  IK-  was  gentle  and  resju •«  tful, 
hut  calm,  subdued,  and  too  melancholy  to  note  how  flattering  to 
himself  were  the  looks  of  the  beautiful  Cassique.  But  Juan,  the 
page,  noted  it  as  well  as  others;  and  he  turned  away  from  the 
sight  as  if  disquieted,  and  retired  into  the  rear,  seating  him.-elf 
gloomily,  beneath  the  old  trees  of  the  forest.  Juan  Ortiz,  the 
former  interpreter,  too,  was  among  the  persons  who  thought  the 
princess  was  quite  too  gracious  in  .her  bearing  to  a  poor  knight 
of  Portugal,  when  an  Adelantado  of  the  Castilian  was  present  ; 
and  De  Soto  himself  more  than  once  looked  on  with  cloudy 
visage,  as  he  beheld  the  smiles  given  to  Philip,  which  he  thought 
were  properly  due  only  to  himself.  The  conference  was  long, 
but  satisfactory  in  high  degree  to  the  Spaniards.  At  the  close, 
and  when  the  prim-.  .ibout  to  depart,  she  rose,  and  un 

winding  the  strings  of  pearl  from  about  her  neck,  would  have 
thrown  them  over  that  of  the  interpreter,  but  he  recoiled  from 
the  dangerous  honor,  and  motioned  to  De  Soto.  But  the  princess 
hesitated. 

"Will  not  the  warrior  who  speaks  of  strange  things  in  the  ear 
of  CoQalla,  the  Queen,  wear  the  pearls  which  have  been  about 
her  neck  ?" 


PHILIP    IN    FAVOR.  409 

*-Such  gifts,   beautiful    < 'o^alla,  are  only  for  a  great  chief  to 
wear.     In  the  noble   person  who  sits   in  the  chair  of  state,  you 

hehold  the  great  chief  of  our  people.       He  will  be  proud  t<> 
.iris  of  the  Queen  of  Cofachiqui." 

She  !»,,ked  reproachfully  at  the   knight   of  Portugal,  and    .-till 
he.-itated,  the  pearls  hanging  from   her  hands.      I  )e  Solo  had  ob- 
i  her  movements  keenly.     He  suspected  the  truth. 

"  What  says  she,  Don  Philip?"  was  his  stern  and  sudden  <jues 
lion  to  the  knight. 

It  was  with   a   blu^h  that  Philip  felt  the  necessity  of  evading, 
or  suppivs-liig.  the  truth. 

'•The   princes*  would    :  on   the  Adelantado  tin-  pearls 

which  -he  carries  in  her  hands,  but  fears  to  violate  decorum.  She 
would  have  ms  be-tnw  them  ;  but  1  have  counselled  her  that 
the  h"iior  will  be  i<  >usly  felt,  if  she  will  make  the  gift 

with  her  own  hands." 

"Thou  art  riuht,"  WOS  ihe  reply  of  the.  Adelantado.  and  he  ap- 

proaeh.-d    i  ,-!y  and  bowed  hi-  hc;id.      Slowly  and  rehie 

taiitly    still,    luit    ol,e\ing    ihe   sign    made    by    D..II     Philip,    the 

rands  over  the  ibouldon  \delan- 

sho.  -ei/ing  her  liand  as  >hc  did  BO,  pa— ed  a  rich  gold  ring, 
with  a  ruby,  over  one  <.f  her  lin^r 

With  this  d  remonial.  t!i  |  tided.      Th«-  | 

eomplie<l  with  the  <h-ires  of  the  Spaniard-.      1  ler  l"«ats  < -..: 

them  .^  i-iver;  ber  people  brought  them  pro  visions ;  -he 

d  them  in  her  village  with  favor;   jnnl.  tl •;  .  there 

.t    mutual    pleasure   and    gratitication   am- 
3    aniard-  were  <K-lighteil  \\ith  I 

of  the  queen,  at  which  they  greatly  wondered;   and    B] 
as  her  peoj.le.  was    eijuaJlv  charmed  with    the    curifi; 
who    brought  with    them  -•>  many  strange  and  charm 
In  particular,  -he  thought  l«'iig.  and  dwelt  much,  to  her  attendants, 
upon    the    ;  warrior.  wi:hiu 

She  likened  hi-  -pe.  eh  to  tha1  :*-k  t-ingue'  (the 

mock-bird  \  wh«-n  it  i-  ih.-  season  for  li'1 
win  his  favorite  by  the  pie,, 

Hut   Philip  retired  to  -ad.  rather   than    ,-weet  t!,  1  fan- 

'it.  a-    he    Ml  at  hi-  e\ciiing  meal  bei. 

with   .luan    in    attcndan.  unu-ually  -ad   and    -j.iritle-s. 

.luan  -A  jloomy.  too,  luit    made   an    etlbrt    to    revil 

spirit-  of  his  matter,  H--  ^  i-  curious,  too.  and  he  ohOM  f--r  his 
subject  the  beautiful  (jiie.-n,  \\ho  WHS  the  topic  of  univer>al  culo- 
giuin  aint-n^  the 


±10  VASCONSELOS. 

"  Think  you,  my  Lord,  that  this  woman  is  so  very  beautiful  ?w 
asked  the  boy. 

"  Woman  ?  Forget  you,  sirrah,  that  you  are  speaking  of  a 
great  Princess  among  her  people  !"  was  the  sharp  reply. 

"  Pardon  me,  Seflor,  but  I  meant  not  to  ollend  ;"'answeiv,l 
the  page  with  becoming  humility — "but — does  my  Lord  think 
her  so  very  beautiful  ?"  he  persisted. 

"She  is  very  beautiful,  Juan." 

u  That  is  to  say,  for  a  savage  Indian  ?'; 

"She  is  one  of  God's  creatures,  Juan,  and  there  is  no  race 
without  its  beaut  ie>." 

"  But  these  beauties  do  not  suit  the  better  taste>  of  a  rdmed 
people,  Senor.  They  are  too  rude;  and  besides,  these  beauties 
are  of  the  form  only;  they  lack  the  correspondences  of  education 
and  learning,  and  the  charm  of  accomplishments,  such  a-  are 
needful  to  satisfy  the  desires  of  a  Christian  pen; 

"  Aye,  boy  ;  but  if  the  tastes  lack,  the  virtues  are  not  wanting. 
There  is  heart,  at  least,  in  the  savage  rudeness,  though  it  mav 
lack  the  art tul  accomplishments  of  the  refined  European.  There 
is  no  treachery  here — no  false  faith — no  base,  degrading  passions, 
nursed,  though  they  are  felt  to  be  vicious,  and  practised  hv  those 
who  boast  nf  their  higher  virtues  and  their  puivr  tastes.  'Belter 
far  that  there  be  no  accomplishments,  such  as  thoii  pratest  of,  if 
they  are  to  be  allied  with  foul  lusts,  practised  in  secret,  to  the 
grievous  prril  of  tht-  soul,  and  in  despite  of  that  verv  eduealion 
of  the  mind, which  teaches  the  sin,  and  the  shame,  and'  the  li..m,r 
of  such  practice.  Better  far.  the  embrace  with  the  rude  and 
simple  woman  of  the  Apalaehian,  than  the  whiteil  <i-pulch: 
Christendom,  where  all  is  smooth  and  shining  without,  and  all 
loathsomeness  and  corruption  within.  1  would  rather  lav  mv 
head  upon  the  bosom  of  the  simple  savage,  who  is  innocent  as 
she  knows  nothing,  than  upon  hers,  who  sins  with  all  her  know 
ledge,  and  is  treacherous  to  the  very  faith  which  she  profesaefi 
and  believes.  Ah!  boy — speak  to  me  no  more.  Thou  little 
knowest  into  what  a  gaping  wound  thou  hast  thru>t  thv  tortur- 
in.ii  fii:. 

The  page  said  no  more  that  night.  He  stole  away  to  the  soli- 
tnde  of  another  thicket,  an. 1  bitterly  did  he  weep  the*  night  auav, 
with  his  face  buried  in  the  long  grasses  of  the  plain. 


CHAPTER   XXXV  1. 

"  Deh  I  non  tradir'  mi,  armco." 

40MBBI 

AT  first,  nothing  could  exceed  the  mutual  satisfaction  of  th° 
red  men  and  the  Spaniards  in  their  commerce  and  communion. 
Tlic  latter  delighted  their  simple  hosts  with  gifts  of  curiosity  and 
u-c.  \\hi.-h  wen  at  once  new  to  them  and  serviceable.  Tin-  In- 

•  »n  the  other  hand,  stript  their  hou-e-  and  p.  I  even 

s,  of  the  pearls  which    they  i  in   great  <juan- 

•o  glut   the   de-ire-  of  the    strangers.      To  the- 
added  others  which    still    further  aroused  the  cupidity  of  our  ad 
venturers.      Bits    of  gold    and    silver    were    mingled  with   their 

spoils,  prompting  a  thousand   curious  in.jui: 

::ie.       \Vh«-n  told  of  the  provinces  of  Xlia 

Chalaipiie,  where   the  g,.M   ffrew,   1  '  d    upon  tlie  e\- 

ploru'ioM  of  «.li,  .      llui    he  proposed  awhile  to   re 

main  where  he   ,.  Mat   he   \\U-  e\ell   IloW   ill  a  \M»Hd  of 

i;r»;at    mineral    trea-ure-.      The  very  appearance  of  the  Mull-  of 
( 'ofachi(|ui,  shining  with  Niiiiilass  and  mira,  le.l  to  «ln-am- 

•  -.  wliich.  a  fi-w  hits  found  along  the  shore.  jrvatly 

.nd  while   he    remained    in    this  neighborhood,  he 
artually  undertook  the  j.rodigiou-.  toil  of  cutting  olf  an  el; 
the  river,  and  turning  its  water  f..r  >e\vr;il  mileB,  in  order  to  lav 
hare  the  lied  of  the    stream    for   the    p  of  the  pi 

treftmres  which  were   -upp'^.-d  to  pave  it.     '1't,  .-f  this 

iahor.   pui-Mie.l    with   stern   indiiMry  and    a    lar. 
workmen,    foi-  auhi.  tfl]     to  he  found  in  the  canal. 

tothUday  in  the><-  j.n-. -in. -is.  and  whii-h  still  goe^  l.y  the  name  of 

Spanish  Cut,     Hut  the  Adelantado  \\a^   compe!1. 

reliu-tant.  to  dismiss  this  ph-a-ant  fancy,  ami  adandoi:  the  painful 
to  whieh    it    l»-d.      His  xilvi-r  j-roved  to  I..  •  valu 

It  enmi'hled  away  at  hU  touch.      H»-t!. 
i  him   from  th-  in-  <  uunN  \\hieh  we  n..w  kimw  to 

tly  true. 
Ifeanwi  i  men   and 

underwent    a    ehaji^-.      The  Spaniard- 
show  the   ihnple   native- 
Their  • 

86  tiie\  jren  more  •••  ofi  li    t  in  I 

(4U) 


VASCONSELOS. 

with  the  people.  Violence  took  the  place  of  kindness.  In  wan 
ton  mood,  in  mere  levity,  the  intruders  usurped  the  possessions 
of  the  savages,  defiled  their  women,  and  brutally  assailed  their 
persons  as  their  pride.  Strife  followed,  and  frequent  stru^le. 
The  granaries  of  the  red  men  lessened  under  the  wasteful  de- 
mands  of  their  visitors,  and  the  beautiful  Prim-ess  herself,  who 

had  been    at  first   so  much  charmed  by  the  pale  warriors. and 

who  still  craved  to  be  permitted  to  love  and  honor — her  feelings. 
perhaps,  being  much  more  interested  than  her  judgment— even 
she  found  how  difficult  it  was  to  keep  on  terms  with  a  peopj, 
avaricious,  so  tyrannical,  and  selfish.  She  looked  sternly  upon  the 
Spaniards  in  general,  she  looked  coldly  upon  the  Adelantado. 
whom  an  equal  inflexibility  of  will  and  appetite  made  hard- 
favored  and  perpetually  exacting.  It  was  upon  the  nol.le  inter 
preter,  only,  that  she  cast  always  sweet  and  loving  glances. 
To  him  she  spoke  freely  of  the  respects  in  which  the  Spaniards 
"3xed  and  troubled  her. 

"They  rob  and  wrong  my  people;  they  destroy  their  fields; 
beat  them  when  they  complain,  and  murder  them 'when  they  re- 
sist.  It  is  no  longer  easy  to  procure  the  provisions  which  shall 
feed  so  many  mouths.  My  people  grow  very  impatient.  My 
chiefs  counsel  me  to  expel  the  intruders;  my  warriors  would 
take  up  arms  against  them.  It  remains  only  that  I  give  the  >i^- 
nal.  and  the  shout  of  war  would  rise  above  the  forests,  and  the 
shaft  of  death  would  fly  from  every  thicket.  Hut.  1  am  silent, 
noble  Philip,  as  they  call  thee ; — silent!  I  feel  for  my  people^ 
and  1  chafe  at  the  insolences  of  thine.  Why  am  1  silent?  It  is 
because  I  would  not  harm  thee:  because  I  would  not  see  thee 
depart,  Philip." 

Philip  beheld  her  with  a  sad  and  drooping  eye.  What  a  history 
of  grief  and  hopelessness  did  her  tender  words  and  looks  recall  f 

"  I  am  but  a  leaf  in  the  wind,  noble  Co^illa  ;  a  bubbK-  upon  the 
stream  ;  a  spent  arrow,  whose  course  through  the  air  i>  lost  as 
soon  as  made.  Think  not  of  me.  Persuade  thy  warrior-,  to 
forbearance.  The  Adelantado  will,  I  think,  depart  snnn  froir  tliv 
provinces.  Better  not  provoke  his  anger.  He  hath  a  power  «.'| 
which  thy  people  know  nothing  :  to  which  they  mu>t  succumb  in 
strife,  or  perish.  He  hath  but  little  reason  to  remain  here  much 
longer,  and  will  most  likely  depart  ere  the  coming  moon  !  Till 
then  be  patient — keep  thy  people  in  patience,  and  let  them  brin<i 
in  good  supplies  of  provisions,  that  we  may  the  sooner  leave  thee." 

"But  t/tou  need'st  not  leave  <  'nlai-lmpii,  Phil'p.  Thou  wilt 
stay  here,  and  dwell  in  the  village  of  (Jogalla.  It  is  a  Queen 
among  her  people  who  implores  thee  to  stay." 


INSURRECTION.  418 

I U- fore  Philip  could  ivj-lv,  his  page. Juan,  with  aspect  gloomy 
and  anxious,  suddenly  entered  tin-  apartment,  and  after  a  hurried 
obeisance,  said — 

••>  fior,  your  presence    U    Deeded  without      There  i>  trouble. 
The  Indians    are    arming    and    surrounding  -some  of  our  people. 
There  have  been  blows  already  between  them,  and  there    is  dai. 
;  insurrection." 

UI  must  see  to  this!"  said  Yaseonselos      In  a    few  wor 
conveyed   to   the  Princess  what    lie    had    heard    from  Juan,  And 
hurriedly  took   his  departure.     Juan  was  about  to  follow,  when 
the  Princess  beekoned  him,  and  throwing  a  rich  robe  of  furs  u|><>n 
his  shoulders,  motioned  him  to  accept  it.  in  a  s\veet  and  _ 
planner.     But  the  boy  shook  the  garment  from  his  slum: 
.vith  a  single  glance,  of  a  strange  and  almoM  savage  BternnCH*,  ;.i 
the  noble  giver,  wheeled  about  and  hastily  followed  his  lord. 

The  I'rince.-s  was  ooofounded  at  this  treatment.  She  had  be 
stowed  the  irift  upon  the  boy  as  >he  had  beheld  his  devotion  to 
his  master.  It  was  a  tribute  prompted  entirely  by  her  regard  tbi 
t!ie  latter.  She  could  n--t  CODJeCtUTQ  the  meaning  of  the  boj.  .  <>i 
the  dark  and  savage  look  which  he  gave  her  ;  and  the  rejection  of 

her  girt,  apart   from  the  manner  in  which  the  thing  was  d» 

it-elf  an  insult.     She  expressed  her  wonder,  in  her  own  langi. 
and  hastily  summoned  her  attendants.      The-c   had   hardly  made 
their  appearance,  when   one  of  her  grave,    and    venerable    forest 

ncillon  entered  also.     His  bn.w  was  full  of   trouble.     He 

hurrie-dly  confirmed    the    report  which    she    had  just   heard  from 
oiix,-los.  of  the  difficulty  bi-twci-n    her    people   an  1    the  Spa 
niards,  and,  anxious  about  the  result,  she  hurried  forth  also  \vifh 
ih.-  aur'-d  chief,  in  the  h«pe.  by  her  pn  •  <piiet  the  an-u^ed 

•n<  of  her  subjects. 

When  Philip  de  \'a-con;eh-s  appeared  upon  the  BOene  of 
motion,  the  conflict  s«-emed  inevitable.     The  red  men  \\vre  arm 
inur   C\«TV  where,  and   gatliering  to  the  conflict.      They  liad    : 
ffoaded  b"\..nd  their  endnranci-.  by  the  brutalities  ofsome  of  the 
Spanish  rablilc.  had  re-cntcd  with    blows  an  unprovoked  injury  : 
ami.    unwillingly  restrained    >o  loiiii.    by   the   authority    of   their 
(jueen.  it  was   now  apparent  that    th»;  outbreak  would  be  \>r<>\  or- 
tionately  extreme,  from    the   eiiforee«l    authority  which  had    hith 
erto  kept  in  subjection   the'r    u^uallv  untameable  passion -.      'lln- 
warriors  had  submitted    to   the    presence  and   the  .. 
the    Spaniards  a-.rain-t    tlieir    habitual    pr 
nature.      1 

the  eoiuju.  rora  oi'  all 
iubmit   to   tl.  -', in. m   it 


414  VASCONSELOS. 

seemed  so  easy  to  destroy  ?     The  moment  had  arrived,  at  last, 
for  the  assertion  of  their  strength  and  independence  ! 

The  moment  \vas  inauspicious  for  De  Soto.  One  half  of  his 
forces  had  bce-n  despatched  in  different  bodies,  and  directions,  in 
the  exploration  of  the  country.  Nuno  de  Tobar  was  probablv 
fifty  miles  oil',  with  a  select  body  of  forty  horses,  on  the  route  to 
Achalaque.  Juan  de  Anasco,  with  a  similar  force,  was  awa\  on 
another  route.  So  was  Gonzalo  Sylvestre  ;  so  was  Andre-  d< 
Ya-eonselos,  with  his  Portugiu  -se,  and  other  knights.  The  re 
mains  of  the  army,  with  UeSoto,  at  the  moment  of  commotion, 
were  scattered  along  the  river  banks,  or  in  the  forests,  fishing  or 
fowling.  Unless  he  could  quell  the  commotion  without  the  ex 
treme  of  struggle,  without  absolute  violence,  he  was  in  danger  of 
being  utterly  destroyed.  The  princess  of  Cofachiqui  could  bring 
several  thousand  warriors  into  the  field.  It  was  under  tin-- 
eumstanees  that  the  Adelantado  hurried  forth,  as  Philip  de  Vas- 
conselos  had  done,  in  order  to  interpose  his  person  and  authority 
for  the  prevention  of  the  strife.  It  was  here  that  he  showed  the 
resources  of  a  good  head  and  a  long  experience.  To  the  sur 
prise  equally  of  his  own  soldiers  and  the  red  men,  he  seized  a 
cudgel  and  began  to  belabor  the  Spaniards,  seconded  in  the  ope 
ration  most  heartily  by  Philip,  vho  had  reached  the  seem-  in 
season  for  this  proper,  if  not  pleasant  exercise.  The  prince^ 
appeared  at  this  juncture,  and  dapped  her  hands  with  a  sort  of 
uiriish  delight,  which  contributed  to  the  success  of  IV  Sato's 
policv.  The  chiefs  and  sages  went  amongst  the'!*  warriors  with 
word's  of  counsel  ;  and  the  outbreak  was  quelled  almost  as  soon 
•is  it  had  taken  place.  The  red  men  retired  to  their  woods, 
hardly  satisfied,  but  subdued,  they  knew  riot  well  in  what  man 
ner.  The  Adelantado  escorted  the  princess  to  her  dwelling,  and 
partook  of  a  feast  which  she  had  prepared.  For  the  moment 
harmony  seemed  restored.  But  it  was  a  hollow  amnesty.  There 
»v  ere  wounds  that  rankled  on  both  sides,  ami  refu-ed  to  be  healed. 
Pride  was  at  work  equally  in  the  hearts  of  the  Spaniards  and 
••••(1  men.  and  pav-ion-.  of  even  a  worse  order,  which  the  artifices 

•f  both  only  labored  to  conceal  —  not.  overcome. 

That  night,  the,  Adelantado  called  a  council  of  his  chief  officers 
.:•  hi-  ijuarters.  Philip  de  Vasconsclos  was  present  with  the 
rest. 

••  I  have  summoned  you  .  Scftores,"  said  De  Soto,  "that  we 
..iay  confer  together  as  to  the  policy  before  us.  You  have  *•,  -n 

«»-  lay  what  i>  the  temper  of  these  savages.      Fortune  da;, 

ed  a  ri>ing  spirit  of  insolence  among  them.      Thev 
verv  reluctantly.      With  all  om 


CHIEFS    IN    COUNCIL.  416 

exertions,  we  scarcely  g*-t  an  adequate  Mipply,  and  the  return  of 
venil  parties,  we  have  sent  out,  will  find  too  many  mouths 
for  our  granaries.     The  princess,  herself,  no  longer  looks  on  us 
with  friendly  eyes.     She   treats  us  coldly  ;  she,  denies  h 
sometimes,  when  1  seek  to  see  her;  and  there  can  be  no  que-tion 
that  >he  looks  upon  our  continued  pivsmee  with  dislike, 
forth.  Sefio:  .re  your  opinion*  freely,  and  say  what  is  left 

to  us  in  this  condition  of  our  atfairs." 

There  were  many  speaker.-,  to  all  of  whom  the  remarks  of  the  Ad- 
eJantado  furnished  the  kev-iiote.      All  were  agreed  that  the  queen 
and  lier  subjects  were  changed    in   temper  toward-  them;   that  it 
ident  they  were  regarded  no  long,  r  u  grateful  gue-ts.  but 
as  burdensome  and   offensive   intruders.     But  no  one  sug. 
the  course  of  action.     They  all  well   knew  that,  while  De  Soto 
•  !   patiently  to  all,  he  followed   no  counsel  but  his  own.  or 
'  which   he  fully  inclined   himself      Vaseonselos  alone  was 
silent 

••  We  would  hear  from  Don  Philip,"  said  De  Soto,  with  a  smile 
\\hieh    had    in    it    something    of  a  Philip    quietly    and 

promptly  answered. 

-There  is  no  question  but  it  i-  true  that  the<e  people  arc  tiivd 

of  us.      We  have  worn    out  their  patiriuv.      We  have  consumed 

their  provision-.  oe.-iipied  their  houses,  controlled  and  commanded 

their  labor,  enjoyed  their  hospitality  to  the  full  extent  of  tln-ir  re- 

•- ;   and  in  return,  have  beaten  and  despoiled  their  men  and 

".  and    shown  our-elves  verv  ungrateful    for   all    that    thev 

h.i\e  done  with  us.      For   my  part.  I  only  wonder  that  they  have 

tolerahd  u  .      The  admirable  drubbing  \\hieh 

•y  administered  this  day  to  -M.mc  of  the  run  :.•  •  have 

turned  the  hearts  of  this    simj  lite    aa 

IilUeli  due  to  jll-'  JQOd   policy.        It    Illicit  have  been   Well   to 

.dministered    a    little  more  of  it.  and  to  a  - 

offenders.'1 

••  \V.-'d.  bat  a  Imitting  the  truth  of  all  this.  Seflor  Don  Philip." 
led  De  Soto.  rather  impatiently.— ••  :  tion    is  what 

an-  we  to  do, — how  repair  the  evil— how  put   our-«-l\v-    i:, 

'     sin-h    m:  befallen    u-  t". 

"The    ipiestion    N    an    ernbarra— ini; 
and,  perha;  addressed  to 

'•ouncillors.     llie  solution  of  it  will  <!  'iirob- 

MiM  we  linur'-r  ht-r.  which  w« 

to  gather  from   the-  .  km,     The 

gold,  M  WP  learn   on   every  hai  !t  id  tu  be  found  m:^. 


416  .os. 

above,  and  in  the  region  of  mighty  mountains.  You  have  abac 
doned  the  idea  of  cnanging  the  hod  of  the  stn  am,  since  there  i'~. 
no  probability  that  it  will  atlbrd  a  treasure  which  the  banks  on  its 
sides  do  not  possess.  Wherefore,  then,  remain  in  a  region  which 
promises  nothing,  and  where  we  have  evidently  exhausted  the 
ho-pitality,  with  the  provisions  of  its  people  ?  Our  delay  ran  give 
us  neither  food,  nor  profit,  nor  security."1 

"True  again,  but  still  not  satisfactory.  There  is  a  subject  he- 
sides  which  we  need  to  consider.  If  we  depart  from  ihe^e  people 
thus,  and  while  they  keep  their  present  mood,  we  IOM-  civ. lit 
among  them.  They  will  feel  that  they  have  had  a  sort  of  tri 
umph.  It  will  make  them  insolent.  Their  runners  will  preec  ' 
us  where  we  go;  they  will  disparage  our  arms  and  valor;  th  \ 
will  lose  us  that  authority  which  makes  our  progress  go  with»'it 
question;  and  we  shall  have  to  light  ever\  step  of  our  way." 

"  We  have  had  to  do  this  already  in  most  cases.  In  the 
country  of  the  savage  this  can  scarce  lie  otherwise.  We  can 
look  only  to  our  arms  and  courage  to  carry  us  through.  Hut 
where  this  needs  not — where  we  are  received  in  kindness — it  is 
scarcely  wise  to  force  hatred  upon  the  people  that  welcome  us  at 
lir>t  with  love.  This  is  what  we  have  been  doing.  We  have 
manacled,  maimed,  and  even  burned  these  people,  for  small  of- 
fdices.  which,  in  their  ignorance,  they  have  cdmiiitted.  Yet  they 
have  home  with  all.  through  the  kindness  of  their  Queen.  They 
cannot  endure  starvation.  We  have  brought  them  to  this.  Let 
us  leave  them  in  sea-on.  before  we  have  made  them  desperate; 
and  carry  their  friendly  wishes  with  us,  if  we  can  carry  nothing 
.  'T!u-y  have  \ielded  to  us  all  their  treasures  of  gold  and 
pearls/' 

'•  Ay.  but  their  favor  is  already  !o-t.  They  will  send  us  for 
\\ard  with  no  good  wishes.  They  will  rather  send  before  u^ 
tidings  of  evil  which  shall  prejudice  our  progiv>>s  \\heivver  we 
appear.  Tin-  Princess  Co§alla  has  grown  haughty  ami  indillerent. 
Si-fior  Don  Philip,  to  all  among  us,  but  yourself." 

I'hilip  regarded  the  savage  smile  upon  the  countenance  of  the 
Ad«-!:mtado,  with  a  (juict,  cold,  immovable  look.  lie  did  not 
aticmpt  to  answer.  Don  Baltha/ar  de  Alvaro  now  took  up  the 

/'  I)''  /'  . 

*•  I  Mi-pect  that  few  will  doubt  the  necessity  of  our  leaving 
this  pi;,,  e,  your  Kxcelh-nry  ;  and  just  a^  few  \vi!l  be  prepared  t-» 
dcnv  the  danger  of  which  your  Kxrelleucy  speaks,  from  the  ma- 
i;c;«ni,  and  unfriendly  reports  of  these  people.  \Ve  have  It.;.! 
sufficient  proofs  of  their  gr<u\i  ;'_r  ho-tiiity.  The  mother  of  this 
eps  aloof  fro'  1  pursuit  and  search. 


Til!  V.  417 

The  yoim-.:    fndi  li.-r  \\ith   a  ir.< 

slew  hin^elf  rather  than  apj  roach  h.  r  after  In-  lia.l  l>eeii   forhid- 

;iid  1  am  Mire  that  \\e    should    i.  'In-  favor  of  the 

re,  hut  tor  the  special  regard  \s  hich  p«>  P  SOul, 

ill  behalf  of  m.      H--W  !i-i:ur  this  \\ill  secure  u»  i- a  {  rol.lrm 

whidl  \vr  shall  -  it  be  true  tliat  tin-  natives 

•-•.I  tn  «!»-|.;irt  : 

n-izicn   in  wliich  \vc  shall   find   laniiiH-  only  iji-tcad  of  «n.|, 
••  od   also,  that  \vi-  may  havt-  to'lii:ht  out   \\ . 


nd   get   our   jirovisions   only  at    thr    t-nd    <>f  our  \\vaj  on  . 
with  your  K\ri-l',r!n-\  '.->  leave,   \\«-  aiv  in     n-ri-i-lx  il: 


trait  with  those  grea<  n.  ,n«l  FI-;,I 

and  I  Bee  n«-t  tl  n  do  lu-ttt-r  than  adoj>t  their  policv." 

"  What  :  ,uoth  tl».- 

-That  of  >»-i/in«:  u|«'ii  •:  :  tlu-  t-ouistry,  and  t 

pie.      '1  hi-  Priii. 

.chi-jiii  i-  in  your  power.     Her  ]  eople  In.  Id  lu-r  in  MI 

ize    h--r.    ki-.-p  lu-r  i: 
ifnl    Lriiai-dian-hij).  and  \ 
conduct  of  her  :  -  nd'no\v  to  t; 

\vhifli  >h  i  .s\\;i\-  :   as 

\"ii    1  if  you  in  ,.u    :ur    told    that    slu-   i^ 

tin-  ure.,'  alacliiaii.  the   .' 

mom,  the  Mechachebe  1  Wliat  follo\v>.'    Tin-  j..  oj.|t-,  in  ai 

y  h«-r  decrees,  l«rin«;  j'fovi-i'  -nlnnit 

without  lilows.      Tin-  policy  <  :  :,»  mu-t  1  . 

of'  1  1,  -rnan  <!<•  SotO,  if  hi-  h  'it  ili,-r  hi  ath.'H 

:'<»licy  for 

and  lion-id  j".  .  \';l^. 

ikintr  with    all    tho  \varn.th    of  a    nol-le 
an<l  inp-nuoiix  E  •  thr  cold  cruelty  and  ; 

:IIM-I  crivt-n.    ••()!  Don  Heman  de  Soto,  beware  ho^t  pov 

^lain  an  li"1  inc.  hy  the   adoj.tioii  ot'  a    \>-  -lianie- 

•in-adfully  >iii^rat«-fu!.      ] 
i  \ouwith  hit:1  -.  ha-  treated  von  \\ith  nnva- 

i  from  lu-r  -ton-s  all  that  -h 
.••ntleman.  and    h>\al   .  -..  .   not  follow 

counsels  which  shall  riolat  ;m>ted  virtue.  uritv 

'arkciicd  ten: 

i    employ   strong  laii^-.  Philip  d< 

but  you  in  }    ;/   .,t 

would  seen. 

18*  ^ 


418  VASCONSEL03. 

The  pale  cheeks  of  Philip  reddened,  but  he  was  silent.  Th« 
Adelantado  proceeded  : 

"But  our  obligations  are  gem-nil  only,  and  shared  with  all  the 
chiefs  of  my  army.  You  hear  how  they  express  themselves,  and 
what  they  counsel.  In  great  necessities,  nice  scruples  are  vicious 
impediments,  and  we  may  not  apply  to  great  embarra^sm*  i 
principles  we  submit  to  when  the  currents  of  lite  flow  smoothly 
on  as  we  would  have  them,  under  ordinary  laws.  !  hold  the 
counsel  of  Don  Balthazar  to  be  the  only  means  of  e>cai>e  and 
progress  in  this  our  emergency.  It  is  our  necessity,  which  we 
cannot  escape." 

"O!  say  not  so,  your  Excellency "  began  Philip  de  Vas- 

conselos,  but  the  truncheon  of  the  Adelantado  came  down  heavily 
upon  the  table, — and  he  thundered  out — 

"  We  have  decided,  gentlemen — we  are  resolved — the  council 
is  dissolved.  We  shall  see  to  these  things  with  early  morning. 
Be  you  each  prepared,  in. armor,  to  second  all  my  orders/" 

The  council  dispersed,  each  to  his  own  quarters,  all  leaving  the 
Adelantado,  except  Don  Balthazar,  who  had  other  matters  to 
insinuate  when  he  did  not  counsel.  Philip  de  Ya^conselos  grieved 
to  the  heart,  retired  to  his  lowly  lodgings,  where  he  sat  down  to 
his  silent  supper,  of  which  he  scarcely  ate,  attended  by  Juan  in 
silence. 

"O!  boy,  boy!"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly — "thou  little  know- 
est,  boy,"  he  proceeded  — u  but  if  the  heart  of  woman  be  incu 
rably  false,  that  of  man   is  terribly  base  !      If  her  heart  be  weak 
as  water,  his  is  more   hard    and   unfeeling  than  the  pitiless  rock. 
am  >ick.  .Juan,  very  sick  of  all  things  that  live'/' 

And  the  supper  was  pu>hed  away  ;  and  the  knight  threw  him- 
eelf  on  his  couch  of  reeds  and  brush,  under  the  roof  of  his  Dimple 
.ndian  lodge  which  had  given  him  shelter,  and  he  felt  to  what  a 
oase  use  his  ruler  had  put  all  the  benefits  of  the  Dimple  and  con 
fiding  red  men,  and  their  sweet  and  lovely  sovereign.  And  .Juan 
lay  between  two  rustic  pillars,  in  the  shade,  half  watching  the 
words  of  his  master  all  the  while.  And  he  drowsed  while  watch 
ing  :  but  Philip  slept  not.  He  could  not  sleep  because  of  too 
much  thought,  and  long  after  midnight  he  arose,  and  he  muttered 
to  himself — 

"It  shall  not  be!      I  will  prevent  this  dreadful  treachery!" 

And  he  stole  forth  even  as  he  spoke,  carrying  his  sword  be 
neath  hi-'  arm,  and  he  made  his  way,  amidst  the  dim  woods, 
guided  only  by  the  starlight,  and  certain  scattered  fnvs  of  the 
village,  until  he  was  lost  iu  the  thickets  that  lay  between  the 


PHI!  nv.  419 

h    rnrnm pirn-nt    ami    the    grounds    which    environed   the, 
abode  of  the  Princess.      IK-  knew  not  that  the  onlv  half-sleeping 
Juan,  aruu>ed  l>y  his    exclamation,  had    started    to"   hi 
OftUgfat  up  a  weapon  also,  and  was    following    stealthily  upon  hi* 


CHAPTER   XXXVi 

"  E  chi  poteva, 
Mio  ben,  senza  vedir  ti 
La  patria  abbandonnar  f " 

ARTAf 

MEANWHILE,  the  Adelantado  and  his  prime  minister,  Don 
Balthazar  de  Alvaro,  sate  late  at  their  private  councils,  after  the 
rest  of  the  noble  Knights  and  Captains  had  retired.  They  had 
much  to  discuss  and  determine  which  was  not  proper  to  be  sub 
mitted  to  the  common  ear.  But  a  portion  only  of  this  confe 
rence  properly  concerns  uiir  drama.  It  was  at  the  close  of  their 
discourse  that  De  Soto  gave  it  in  charge  to  Don  Balthazar,  to 
arrest  the  Princess  and  put  her  under  safeguard. 

"There  need  be  no  violence.  SeiVr  Baltha/ar,  if  your  proceed 
ings  are  prompt  and  secret.  All  outward  forms  of  respect  must 
be  maintained.  We  must  only  see  that  she  does  not  escape. 
See  to  it  by  sunrise." 

"  Better  an  hour  or  two  before,"  was  the  answer  of  the  Don. 
"The  Indians  may  be  put  on  the  alert  by  sunrise." 

"What  !   you  do  not  suspect  Don  Philip?" 

"He  is  a  favorite  with  the  IVuie. 

"  But  I  should  think  her  no  great  favorite  with  him.     He  seems 
•at  her  with  great  reserve,  if  not  < 

"  R.  apt   to  be  only  a  prudent    masking  of  the  pas- 

u  But  would  he  dare  to  play  us  false  !" 

"Ah!  this  would  scarcely  be  considered  a  treachery;  or  only 
such  as  were  becoming  in  a  good  knight.  \\'e  can.  at  all  events, 
better  guard  against  than  punish  such  a  treaehery." 

"Ay,  by  the  holy  cross,  but  I  should  punish  -ueh  a  tiva'-hery, 
were  the  offender  the  best  knight  in  Christendom." 

"Verily,  and  I  should  hark  on,  and  say  will  done,  your  K\- 
eellency  ;  but  still  I  repeat,  better  in  tlii-  case  [  iweiit.  than  have 
to  puni>h  such  treachery.  In  brief,  the  Princess  must  m>t  IK> 
allowed  to  escape.  Weiv  she  to  d<.  BO,  we  should  tare  badly  in 
our  future  progiv-s  through  her  dominions.  With}  our  i 

lency's  leave,  1  will  make  the  arrest  hefi>iv  the  dawn  o»*  another 
day." 

"  It  is  as  you  plea-*-.      You  are  no  doubt    right    in   the  precau 

(420) 


\LLA.  421 

tion ;  though,  let    me  find    tin-  Knight  of  Port  igal  playing  me 

md  " 

The  threat  was  unspoken,  or  was  sufliejently  expressed  in  the 
ire,  and   tin-    heavy  -troke  with  which,  with   c!> 
•:ie    rude    '  .vhieh  the  parties  were  - 

In  a  little  while  after  this.  Don  Bahha/ar  took  i/ 

He  proceeded  almost     ilMailtly  tO  collect  »f  !l!i 

followers,  all    armed,   for  the   capture   of  the  Princess  Cogallti. 

This  labor  occupied  some  tim-  '1   to   move  with    all  pre 

cautions,  rout   up  soldiers  who  \\viv.  sleeping,  and  hunt  up  nth.-rs 

^•uttered  ;  and  this  brought  him  to  a  tolerably  la 
in  the  nii:ht.      By  that   time    Philip   de  \  >9    had    already 
proceeded  on  his  <j.-\\cr<>\\-<  mission,  of  arousing  the  I' 

•v  of  flight,  an  .  '     i  Baltha/ar  had    set    his  litil  • 

scju.id  in  moti.»n  :  but  the  latter  was  not  delayed  much  longer. 
Still,  the  Portuiriie-e  Kni-rht  is  in  <ea>on  for  his  object,  if  :h<-ie 
should  occur  no  eMibarra  —  ments. 

It  wa>   no   small    OHO,   h-'W-ver.  that   of   (indinj  *.»  th.i 

Prince><.     she  occupied  a  centre  mansion,  rude  «iough  t' 

>   far  as    we  n  fer  \<>  th  -  »\'  art.  but  a  nio^ 

:f  \ve    look    only  to    tiie   natural     Accessories,      d'h.f 

and  hickoi>->.  and  walnut^.  tT.vi-rin^  : 

of  wood  and   -hrubberv — a  nii^lity  colonnade  of  ffigantlO  f>rni», 

coiuluetinu'  throu^li  numenuis  airy  avenu.-s  to  th--  lowly  inan-io;i 
*,  vii:-|-<i:inde  1  bv  a  ^hadv  roof  of  th  itched  poh-s. — an  am 
•andah  of  ure.  11.  surrounding  th  •  habitaliofi.  which  i: 

in  the   ^reat    >lu-lter  nf  th«-  aiu-ieiit   fo|-«  st — wa-  an  abode 

Kmp'-ror.      li.  th;>  verandah  -lept     .  |  irriurs 

a!\yay>  ready,  arm.-d  with 

and  obsidian  l»Iud_i;»-on.  -ton--  t«»mah-iwk    and    knife  of  flint.       \  . 

Kmjn-n«r  OTCT  |  -\ithfiil  and  devoted. 

-urroundiiiL!  tin-    abode  of  th  kfl  filled 

up  with    -cattrred    parties    nf  other  warrior-,  who   slept  \> 

the   tre.'s  when    the  weath.-r  wa>  fair,   an  1  who    k 

hidden   huts,  when    i;.  !.      Th--y 

a^  faithful. 

II.          .  :    1'hilip    de     Y;IM'I»M--  •     1     tile     tab 

tt  his  In-. 
••  L.M.|    DM  tQ    your  queen,91  h--  s-ii«l  in  calm,  but  commai>din<j 

\  Oration  61 

•he  \vi-he-  of  the  knight,  sim. 

pl\    :is   all    knew   him    to   be   th.-   favoiiv   -.f  < '.^  i!l-i.      II 
i>eAre«-ly  a  pie,       !!• 


422  VASCONSELOS. 

silently  through  the  green  glades,  and  amidst  the  dark  avenues  of 
thicket ;  the  boy  Juan  stealthily  and  closely  following,  unnoticed 
by  Philip,  and  permitted  by  the  red  men,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
a  i  he  was  the  attendant  of  the  master.  When  they  reached  UK- 

•  "•Ige,  a  conch,  which  hung  from  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  veran- 
•laii,  was  sounded  by  one  of  the  watchers  at  the  porch.     A  door 

/••ned,  and  a  whispered  conversation  ensued  between  the  guard 
.rid  some  one  within.  A  brief  space,  and  Philip  was  admitted 
t;>  an  antechamber,  a  great  hall,  indeed,  at  one  side  of  which  st«nnl 
a  maiden  with  a  blazing  torch.  Juan  remained  in  waiting  with 
out  the  verandah,  anxious  to  press  forward,  and  trembling  with 
anxiety,  yet  dreading  what  he  should  behold.  But,  for  awhile, 
his  courage  failed  him,  leaving  his  anxiety  unrepressed. 

But  a  few  moments  had  elapsed,  after  Philip's  entrance  into 
the  hall,  when  the  princess  ma«le  her  appearance.  She  was  chid 
iu  simple  white  cotton  garments,  hastily  caught  up.  It  needed 
but  little  time  or  effort  to  adjust  the  costume  of  the  native  prin- 

•  ••  ss,     She  was  followed  by  a  group  of  damsels,  and  one  or  t\v<; 
matrons.     In  a  few  moments  after,  several  old   men  made  their 
appearance  from  contiguous  dormitories. 

There  was  a  joyous  eagerness    in   the  face  of  the    bright 
Cogalla,  as  she  looked  upon  the  knight. 

"Philip!"  She  had  learned  to  call  his  name  very  prettily — 
"Philip!"  and  the  rest  she  spoke  in  her  own  language,  taking  his 
hand  frankly  as  she  spoke. 

"  What  would  the  voice  of  the  Spaniard  with  Cocalla  ?  It  is 
not  the  hour  of  council.  The,  bird  that  sings  by  day,  sleeps  in 
the  darkne-s  The  warrior  sleeps,  with  the  spear  beneath  his 
arm.  Why  comes  Philip  to  me  now  ?  Would  he  make  his 
home  with  the  red  warriors  of  the  forest?  Philip  shall  be  a 
chief  for  Cozalla." 

"  It  is  not  for  that  I  come,  noble  CoQalla.     But  there  is  d 
for  the  princess.     My  people  have  said  Cocalla  must   be  ours! 
She  must  march  with  our  army  to  the.  irreat  mountains.     She 
must  be  the  hostage  for  her  people.     She.  must  follow  the  path 
as  we  mark  it  out  for  her  footsteps.      Let  Cocalla  fly  to  tin 
thickets  and  ex-ape  from  captivity." 

"  Does  the  Spanish  chief  say  this  of  the  Queen  of  Co&chiqui  .'" 
was  the  indignant  answer. 

"The  Spanish  chiefs  have  so  sp, . 

"  What!  Theyseenot  my  warriors  ?  They  know  not  their  valoi, 
their  skill,  their  numbers, and  the  fatal  weapon-,  which  they  carry." 

"Neither  numbers  nor  weapons  will  avail  against  the  arms  of 
the  Spaniards." 


COUNSELS   OF    FLIGHT.  423 

"Ha!  sny'st  thou  !  Thou  -halt  see."  And  she  whimpered  to 
JUT  attendant-,  one  of  whom  disappeared. 

"The   prince-s  mu>t  fly  to  the  deep  foivsts,"  continued  VM- 

ix  n-elo-.      "There  alone  can  she  In-  safe  from  our  j.«-. 

\  !  and  from    my  home, — while   my  warriors  are  around 
:  ! — And    yet — "   -peaking  (quickly  —  M  \Viil 
Philip  go  with   me  to  my  lodge  in  tip  Will  he 

become  a  warrior  of  Cofachimii  ?  Sav.  Philip, — wilt  thou  Lr<> 
with  me,  and  find  u  lodge  among  my  people — and  become  a 
ehief — the  great  chief — the  ' fM&belOYttd  of  Cofachiqui  ?'  And 
she  caught  hi-  hand  eagerly. 

"Ala-  !w  he  -aid,  •'  1  cannot,  beautiful  Gorilla — my  lot  is  cast 
Mnong  the  Spaniards." 

•'  '1  lien  will    1    inert   them    here.      I  will    gather    my    warriors, 
-hall  light  these  Spaniards — they  shall    fall  \i|><>n  them,  and 
•L-  in  all — all  but  thee,  Philip.      Thou  shalt  he  a 
taehiqui.'' 

A  group  of  old  men  entered  at  this  moment,  and  were  ap 
pri-ed  of  what  Va-eonselo-  had  reported.  They  iveeived  the  in 
formation  gravely.  ml  their  prinee-s  a-  die  in\- 

loudly  again>t  the  iii-()!ent  purpose   of  t|u.  Sj.aniard-.      Sh-          I 
them  gather  the  warrior-  together,  and    meet  tlu-ir   60 

>olved   not  to  fly,  nniess and  she   turned   again    to  the 

knight — 

v>  Will    not    Philip  go  with  < 'o^illa  to  the  g  f  her 

d  be  a  chief  of  ( 'nfaehiimi  ?" 
II      ihook    his    head    mournfully.      The   old    chi.  f-    inter 

Philip  understood  all  that  th  .though  in  1"  i 

their  .ju.-en.     They.  too.  exh«.rt«"d  h.-r  to  take  the  f  Vas- 

in   Might.      At  the  mo: 

unprepared    for  conflict.      Their  warrior-  about    •  •  were 

few  in  number,  hardly  more   than  ' 
honor  for  their  sovereign.      It  rv.mire-1  time  to  call   in   the  warri- 

d  to  prepare  for  sueh  eiu-mie-  a-  tlio^e  with  wh-" 
had  to  deal,  and  the  terrible  resources  of  wdiici  were  aliv.. 
part,  known  to  the  chief-.  But  the  i>r:i; 

•  Philip—"  to  find 
chief    over   her    people—  the   chief!"      The   old   wan: 

Th.-y  renewed    th--5r  conn-  They 

.      ^lii- 
said  t  iifully — 

"Does   Philip  bid    me   go   tVom    him  where  I  :,  in  no 


424  VASCONSELOS. 

more  ?  Does  Philip  say  to  Coc.alla  —  lot  the  forests  grow  be 
tween  us,  so  that  our  eyes  shall  never  meet  again  ?  Ah  !  Philip  !n 
and  she  laid  her  hand,  as  if  with  pain,  upon  her  heart.  The 
knight  felt  very  wretched  at  the  wretehedness  he  was  compelled 
to  inflict,  and  a  vague  hut  beguiling  thought  passed  through  his 
fancy  for  an  in*tant,  with  the  rapidity  of  an  arrow  of  light. 

"And  why  should  I  not  depart  with  this  true-hearted  and  in 
nocent  princess?  —  She  is  young  and  beautiful,  and  powerful,  an  1 
more  than  all,  pure  of  thought  and  feeling.  Why  should  1  lid- 
low  in  the  steps  of  those  who  hate,  when  I  am  persuaded  by 
those  who  love  ?" 

But  he  dismissed  the  seductive  argument  with  the  resolute  ex 
ertion  of  his  will.  The  very  thought  of  love,  and  of  another  wo 
man,  while  his  heart  was  still  so  sore  with  the  most  humiliating 
experience  of  the  sex,  M'as  a  revolting  thought.  He  hastily  ex 
pelled  it  from  his  mind. 

"  Heed  not  me,"  he  said,  "noble  Princess  :  —  I  am  but  an  in 
sect  in  thy  path.  1  am  nothing.'' 

"Thou  art  every  thing,  Philip,  to  Cogalla.  My  people  will 
honor  thee  for  my  sake,  and  thou  shall  be.  a  chief  among  them. 
And  thou  shalt  dwell  in  a  lodge  with  Co<jalla,  and  there  shall  be 
no  Spaniards  in  the  great  forests  where  we  go.  Thou  s'halt  be 
a  chief  of  my  people,  Philip,  —  thou  shalt  be  the  only  chief  for 


And  with  these  words,  in  the  eager  impulse  of  a  passion  which 
was  no  less  pure  than  warm,  —  the  passion  of  a  nature  wholly  un- 
sophisticated,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  her  feelings,  she  threw 
her  arms  around  the  neek  of  Vaseonselos.  and  laid  her  head  upon 
his  breast.  Her  long,  dark  tre-ses  tMl  like  a  shower  of  starry 
night  over  his  shoulders. 

At  that  moment,  and  before  the  knight  could  recover  hii 
he   felt   his   arm   plucked  from  behind,   and   the  voice  of  Juan 
sounded  huskily  in  his  ears. 

"See  you  not,  Sefior,  that  unless  you  tear  yourself  away  from 
her,  she  will  not  depart?  She  will  be  captured,  unless  you  leave 
her  at  once  !  Already  Don  Balthazar  is  gathering  his  tn.op  to 
surround  the  village  of  the  princess.  Fly  from  her  in  MOBon,  or 
she  is  surely  taken.  These  moment-  are  fatally  lost.'' 

•  •onselos  heard,  and  tenderly  but  firmly  he  unwound  the 
arms  of  the  princess  from  about  his  ncek.  At  this  act,  silently 
pri-forim-d.  she  turned,  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  and 
threw  herself  on  the  l.o>om  of  one  of  the  matron-*,  while  hei 
sobs  sounded  distinctly  through  the  apartment. 


JUAN    IS    KEBl'KKI  425 

••  \,,NV — r.ow  I'1  cried  .luan.  in  <mick,  eager  accents,  as  Philip 
1 — ''Now  is  tin-  moment,  Sefior.     She  will  fly  when  you 

;_rht." 
••  Y<>u  are  rii::  _rht  !  "  an-weivd  the  knight.      The  hand 

,,t*  .In;  that  of  hi»  superior,  and  led  him  away 

from  the  apartment  and  into  tin-  \M»»'U.  with"1.:!  a  moment 
They  were  within  a  lew  paces  of  the  lodgin-  of  Vai 
los,  when   thev   heard  a  slight    blast  of  a    trumpet  in  the  thicket 

.•n  them  and   the  al)o(le  of  tin-   1'rineess. 
%%  It  IN  the  >ijrnal  «>f  Don  Ualtha/ar,''  said  Juan  hurriedly.     -  \Ve 

•;iid  he  drew  the  knight  into  the  lodge. 
:  C\x;allar  said  Philip. 

"She  has  had  time  enough  f  if  she  willed  it  ;  luit  mo- 

thinks  >he  would  rather  lie  a  captive  \v»  re  Don  Philip  the  jailer, 
than  IK-  ::  H  of  all  the^r 

'J'hrre  was  .-miiethiiig  of  bittenie>s  in  the 
Philip  nott-d  it,  hut  his  mi;id  \va-   t«»o  full   of  anxiety,  in    i 
tn  tlie  escape  of  (j.^alla,  to  dwell  upon  minor  matt. 

•  \v  may  the  Saints  f()rl,i«l  !"   he  ejaculated. 
••'II,  vi-ry  prceiou>   t;>   the   Si-floi- !"    ijuoth 

I  uan.  n. lily. 

••   \-  ;     i.ility.  and  >oul.  and  true  virtue  in  a  wo- 

,er\   iiol.le  ki.  !e«I    Philip, 

somewhat  .^ternly  ;    and   .Juan    shrunk    .  IT  an  arrow   had 

Menly  in  the  lirea-t  ;    and  V^M-IHIM-IM*    heard   no 
miiiv  wor.ls  from  him   that  night.      Tiie    Imy  lia-i  >le    t<» 

bury  his  fa«-e  in  the  leaves  of  his  coueh,  and  to  weep  in  -eerel,  fts 
wa>  his  nightU  -ity. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

"  Va  I  »c  hai  cara  la  vita. 


TUB  effort  of  Don  Philip  had  been  made  in  vain.  The  Prin 
cess  Cosalla  gave  herself  up  to  a  passion  of  grief,  th.it  : . 
argument  and  entreaty.  She  became  fully  conscious  of  her 
danger  (of  which  even  the  assurance  of  Vtisconselos  had  failed 
to  possess  her  mind) — of  the  danger  \\hieh  await*  d  her.  onlv 
when  it  was  too  late.  It  was  only  when  the  shrill  blast  of  the 
Spanish  trumpet,  speaking  in  signal  to  the  co-operating  S.JIKK!, 
and  the  crash  of  conflicting  weapons,  had  struck  upon  her  senses. 
that  she  consented  to  make  the  attempt  to  escape.  But,  by  this 
time,  the  building  was  entirely  surrounded,  and  she  was  seized 
by  a  group  of  common  soldiers,  as  she  strove  to  steal  awav  from 
the  rear  during  the  struggle  between  her  warriors  and  the  a— ail- 
ants.  Her  people  fought  desperately,  even  the  old  chiefs  and 
counsellors,  but  only  to  be  butchered.  The  dawn  saw  her  vil 
lage  smoking  with  blood,  and  herself  a  captive. 

The  Princess  was  from  this  moment  kept  under  close  restraint, 
well  watched  and  guarded,  but  treated  with  forbearance,  if  not 
with  kindness.  She  was  allowed  a  litter  to  be  borne  upon  the 
shoulders  of  her  own  people,  when  she  was  indisposed  to  walk. 
The  Adelantado,  for  awhile,  paid  her  a  morning  visit,  as  Cortez 
had  done  to  Montezuma,  in  which  he  maintained  all  the  mo-t 
deferential  externals.  She  did  not  reproach,  nor  entreat  ;  but 
from  the  moment  when  she  became  a  captive,  she  habited  lur- 
se'fln  ^he  stern  reserve  of  character  so  peculiar  to  the  red  m«-n 
of  America,  and  haughtily  refused  communion  with  her  tivarh- 
erous  and  ungrateful  guest.  But  her  captivity  disarmed  her 
people.  They  dared  not  rebel  against  the  authority  whose  >im- 
ple  decree  might  destroy  the  head  of  the  nation.  They  submit 
ted  every  where — submitted  as  Tamenes,  or  porters,  to  bear  the 
luggage  of  the  army,  and  brought  in  provisions  throughout  the 
country,  wherever  the  Spaniards  came  or  sent. 

The  army  was  set  in  motion  soon  after  the  arrest  of  the  Prini  ess. 
and  the  young  and  noble  (  Valla  was  borne  along  with  it,  in.1 
ing,  as  recklessly  as  the  tidex  <>f  <>eean   bear  awav  upon  tiieir  dis 
cordant  billows,  «hc  beautiful  and  innocent  flower  which  the  teiu 

(42C) 


COCALLA    JiSCAPKS.  427 

•'i  th'-m  from  the  ihores.     In  this  manner  waa  -In- 

conducted  up  'he  Savannah  td  i'-  BOUTC6S,  passing  into  that  region 

scenery  whi.-h  we  now  find  in  the  county  of  H 
>hani,  in  Georgia.      Pursuing  a  direct    western  course  aer. 

tin-    expedition    reached   the    head 

of  the  Coosa.  From  town  to  town — still  submitted  to 
wherever  it  came  the  Spanish  army  proceeded  to  the  Cunasau- 
ga.  the  Uostaiiaula.  and  other  Streams.  They  explored  the 
country  as  they  went,  lodged  in  tin-  villages,  and  secured  the 
submission  of  the  eh  of  whom  they  also  kept  in  capti 

vity,  the  belter  to  secure   the   obedience  of  their    people, 
sionally,  De  Soto  sent  out  detachments,  right  and  left,  in  quest  of 
gold  and  silver. 

It  was  while    two  of  th  under    tbe    knights, 

Villahos  and  Silvera,  had  gone  forth  to  explore  the  mountains 
of  C'hisea.  that  the  Spanish  army  rested  for  a  space  of  more  than 
tliiity  days,  at  a  populous  Indian  town,  called  Chiaha.  the  chief 
of  which  was  a  con-in  of  our  Princess  of  Co&chiqui.  This  chief, 
influenced  by  the  situation  of  his  kinswoman,  had  received  the 
Spaniards  with  a  seeming  in >. id-will,  which  left  them  wholly  with 
out  caii-e  of  complaint.  But,  with  the  rest  from  their  1;; 
the  pas-ions  of  the  inva-i-  1  iteyond  all  onlinary  limits, 

and  they  made  a  formal  demand  upon  the  <  'assi.jue   for  a  certain 
number  of  the  young  women  of  the  nation.      Hitherto,   the  men 
had   nut    been    denied    \»  lerve    the  Spaniards,  in  the  . 
Tanieiies.     The  demand  f  >r  w«;iuen.  implied  a  reckless  diMvuard 
to  all  the  sensibiliiie-  of  the  people;  and.  in    a  single    night,  the 
dia.  who  was  also  held  Mum-wliat  in  the  p«»-i:i"ii 
:  .und    himself   abandoiu-d    by   all    hi^    foil- 
Wild  was  the  rage  of  the  Spaniards  ai  the  flight  of  their  destined 
victims,  and  vain  were  all  the  etlbrts  of  ;h«-  ( SattsiqOfl  to  propitiate 
their  Mlger.      They  ravaged    his    country,  with    tire     . 
nd  burning  without  mercy. 

It  was  at    this  moment,  and  while  the    in\ 
them^elve-x  nin-t  licentious  and  reckl,--.  that  the  1 ' 
still    a   captive,  and    still    watched,  though    r 
usual,  attempted  to  make  her  Sh«-  had  'hecii  confided  to 

.nship  of   two  i  '  v  1  iriin,  and  <  . 

!i       followen  ha«i  laid  do\\n  her  litter,  and  she  h 
drink  at  a  spring  by  the  \\a_\-ide.      The  two  meanwhile, 

had  taken    . 

busily  .  I  other  acqui- 

gitiohb,  W  ^a-   thi  .    the    hazards  of  the 

gain*.     Suddenly,  >  and   her   follower* 


428  VASCONSELOS. 

They  instantly  sought,  by  a  vigorous  search  in  the  neighboring 
woods,  to  repair  the  consequences  of  their  fault.  Unfortunately, 
they  had  missed  the  captive  too  soon  after  lu-r  flight,  to  enable 
her  to  escape  very  far.  She  was  found;  her  followers  Dalian!  ly 
threw  themselves  in  the  path  of  the  pursuers,  and  armed  only 
with  sticks  or  billets,  hastily  snatched  up  in  the  forest,  elide  . 
to  defend  their  mistress.  But  they  were  immcdiatelv  butchered 
Cocalla,  who  had  continued  her  flight,  was  soon  overtaken,  an  ! 
violently  seized  by  Pedro  Martin.  The  bold  ruffian,  leaded  l.v 
licentious  passions,  dragged  her  into  the  covert,  while  Gil  Tom's 
stood  by,  as  if  keeping  sentry.  Her  cries  ran^  through  the 
woods,  and  not  in  vain.  They  called  up  a  champion  in  the  peril 
ous  moment. 

Don  Philip  de  Vasconselos  had  not  lost  sight  of  the  beautiful 
Princess  who  had  so  fearlessly  shown  him  how  precious  he  was 
in  her  eyes.  But  he  forbore  to  trespass  upon  the  indulgence 
which  she  had  shown  him,  and,  with  a  rare  modesty  and  forbear 
ance,  a  delicacy  of  consideration,  which  had  few  parallels  in  that 
day  amongst  these  wild  adventurers,  he  steadily  rejeeted  the 
temptations  which  were  held  out  to  him  by  the  warmth  of  her 
affection  and  the  confiding  innocence  of  her  nature.  He  stu 
diously  forbore  her  presence,  except  when  specially  required  to 
communicate  with  her  by  De  Soto  himself.  In  fact,  there  was 
a  policy,  as  well  as  propriety,  in  this  forbearance.  V .^, -..nsclos 
had  discovered  that  he  vas  n-atcked.  Juan,  his  page,  had  made 
some  discoveries  to  this  effect,  and  had  made  them  known  imme 
diately  to  the  knight.  He  was  watched  by  the  creatures  c>f  Don 
Balthazar.  This  was  the  amount  of  the  discovers  :  and  there 
uspicious  circumstances,  coupled  with  the  conduct  of  Juan 
Ortiz,  the  interpreter,  whose  jealousy  had  been  kindled,  at  the 
expense  of  Vasconselos,  in  consequence  of  the  better  knowledge 
of  the  Indian  tongues  which  the  latter  possessed.  He  had  l.'xt 
some  of  his  authority  with  the  Spaniard*  during  the  period  when 
tin'  Portuguese  knight  served  wholly  as  the  medium  of  comma 
nieat ion  between  the  red  men  and  the  white.  Orti/ 
however,  a  rare  natural  capacity  for  the  acquisition  of  Ian. 
and,  with  a  strong  motive  to  goad  his  industry,  in  his  |>riilr.  his 
mortification,  and  his  love  of  ease — for,  when  not  intcrpn -:\\\<j. 
he  was  required  to  serve  in  the  ranks  a>  a  common  soldier — he 
addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  picking  up  the  dialect  of  the 
people  of  the  new  regions  into  which  he  passe,].  {L  h:l,l  b. -coin« 
to  a  certain  extent  successful,  so  that,  he  was  now  able,  to  under 
stand  and  conjecture  tin-  purport  of  the  various  conversation* 
between  the  Princess  and  the  knight,  whcn.-v.-r  they  took  plac-e  U> 

\ 


THE    PAGK    is    J  429 

pirblic.     On   all  tl,  at  to  her 

affections,  ami   spoke  \vith  \'  •  -    frankly  in  respect  to 

her  love,  as  it'  no  other  ear  but  his  own  could  comprehend  the 
purport  of  her  speech.  All  this  matter  was  reported  tn  Don 
Balthazar,  who,  by  the  way,  had  been  repuUed  by  the  Priii. 
in  every  approach  which  he  liad  made  to  familiarity  with  her. 
How  Juan,  the  Moorish  page,  had  a>ecrtaincd  these  fact-,  may 
not  now  be  said,  but  he  had  learned  enough  to  set  hi-  master  on 
his  guard  against  the  subtle  Ortiz  and  oti.  .  by 

his  enemy. 

Hu  though  eautious,  and  avoiding  a-  mueh  as  possible  all  in 
tercourse  with  the  Prim-ess.  Ya>« -oii-elos  watched  over  her  >afely 
as  tenderly  as  if  he  returned  her  affection.  He  had  seen  the 
growing  indifference  of  DC  Soto  to  the  claims  and  character  of 
the  Prim-e>s,  and  he  strove,  whenever  he  could  do  so  without 
provoking  suspicion,  to  lighten  her  bonds  and  soften  her  morlili- 
cations.  The  boy,  .Juan,  was  sometimes  sent  with  tributes  to 
dla,  with  delicacies  which  >he  might  not  else  procure  ;  and 
we  may  add  that,  though  he  obeyed  the  knight,  lie  yet  did  so 
with  some  reliicia:.<v.  M<>:v  ili.m  ODOG  he  expostulated  with 
Philip  Uj'on  the  risk  which  lie  incurred,  by  his  attentions,  and 

alarm   his  fear>;   but    he  >oon    found  that  >u<-h  MI-. 
tions  oniv  inspired  tin-  knight  with  audacity.      lie  then  ventured 
t<»   change    hi-    Diode  of  attack,  and  would    speak,  with  a   BD 
about  the  ineapaeity  of  the    red  woman   to    appreciate  either  the 
delicacy  of  hi  his   attentions.      Hut    to    this  MigL'otion, 

aNo.  th     reply  of  the  knight  was   apt    to   silence,  for  awhile,  the 
presumption  of  the  i 

one    day  he    said  to  ,Iuan-  "V.  to    pr. 

whit    thou    knowe^t    n.it.      I    tr;i    thee    that    this    heathen    prin- 

morc  beautiful  -«»ul    in    my  sight,  than  any  that  1  k- 
paler    blood.      And    why  should-t    thou.   a    blackamoor,    pre 
sume  to  siiccr  at    the    complexion  which  is  more  akin  to  that  of 
the  ('h:-^ti-.n  than  thine  «.wn  .'      Go  to,  for  a  f.»i!Mi  b..y.  an-i 
nothing    more    in    this    wi-e  ;   for   \vrily.   BOmetimes,  when    thou 
speake«.t  thus.  I  am  ,'ilnio-t  leinj»ted  to  hold  theean  i'lieiuy  to  this 
m<.-t  grai-ioiis  ye!  luekle-s  prin, -t-ss  ;   whom  1  hold  in  Blicfa 
bo\  .  :rd.  that    if  I    had   yet  a  heart  to  h    to 

yield.  t«>  woman.  I   should    pivj'er  t<»  trust  in  her.  than  to  any  liv 
ing  h»:,uty  in  all  Spain  or  Portu. 

«  •   to  humble   and  to  silence  the 

pac.  |aoDj      The   kniijlit    no  ways  withheld  his  kindnesses 

and  protection  from  ti.  thu 

V>,     Vet  he  bufVered  her  not  '  •   he  wek'hcd 


•1:30  VASCONSELOS. 

and  now,  when  the  passions  of  the  rude  and  licentious  ruffian 
Pedro  Martin  had  dragged  her  into  the  deep  thickets,  and  she 
shrieked  aloud  in  her  last  and  worst  terrors  fcr  a  champion  to 
save  her,  she  had  little  reason  to  think  that  the  chief  whom  she 
loved  before  all,  would  suddenly  appear  to  her  rescue. 

Philip  de  Vasconselos  was  fortunately  at  hand.  He  heard 
the  cries  of  the  captive  princess.  He  recognized  the  voice.  He 
knew  the  present  licentious  moods  of  the  Spaniards.  He  had 
denounced,  as  a  terrible  crime,  that  requisition  upon  the  Cassique 
of  Chiaha,  which  had  outraged  his  people,  and  driven  them  away 
to  the  shelter  of  the  woods.  His  instinct  instantly  conceive*  1  the 
danger  of  the  princess ;  the  neglect  and  disregard  of  De  Soto 
tending  to  encourage  the  audacity  of  those  who  were  appointed  to 
watch  over  her.  He  called  to  Juan,  and  hurried  with  sword 
drawn  into  the  thickets.  He  was  suddenly  confronted  by  GU 
Torres. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Seftor  Don  Philip,  but  the  cries  of  the  heathen 
woman,  the  Princess  of  Cofachiqui,  who  has  been  seeking  to  make 
escape  from  us,  and  whom  my  comrade,  Pedro,  has  just  se 
cured." 

"  Stand  aside,  fellow — I  must  see  this  comrade  of  thine." 

Martin  raised  his  lance,  and  caught  the  knight  by  the  wrist  to 
detain  him.  With  one  blow  of  his  gauntletted  fist,  Vasconselos 
smote  him  to  the  earth,  where  he  lay  senseless.  Philip  hurried 
into  the  thicket,  where  Cocjalla  still  struggled  with  all  her  might 
against  the  brutal  assailant.  But  she  was  almost  exhausted. 
She  could  no  longer  shriek.  She  could  only  oppose.  Her  long 
black  hair,  which  swept  the  ground,  was  floating  dishevelled,  her 
garments  were  torn,  her  hands  were  bloody.  At  this  perilous 
moment  she  saw  the  approach  of  the,  knight  of  Portugal.  She 
knew  him  at  a  glance.  She  could  only  murmur,  "  Philip,"  and 
her  strength  failed  her.  She  sank  down  senseless.  At  the  sight 
of  Vasconselos,  the  ruffian  fled. 

The  knight  raised  the  princess  from  the  ground. 

"  Bring  water,  Juan." 

The  boy  obeyed,  bringing  the  water  in  th<>.  knight's  helmet, 
which  he  threw  to  him  for  the  purpose.  He  dashed  the  face  of 
the  princess  with  the  cooling  sprinkle.  He  poured  the  grateful 
draught  into  her  lips.  She  opened  her  eve<  They  lightened 
ft'ith  joy.  She  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  cried — 

"  Philip  !  0  Philip  !" 

"  You  must  fly,"  he  said — "  fly,  Cogalla.  Do  not  waste  the 
precious  moments  now.  It  is  your  only  cnaroe,  Use  it,  J  wilJ 
keep  off  these  villains," 


COCALLA    FKKK. 

II.-  -h<>ok  himself  five  from  her,  :i:id  <iurU d  away.  She  stood 
mournfully  looking  at  him  tor  a  while,  then  waved  her  hand  to 
him,  and  cried — 

-  Philip!     Philip!" 

Ik-  disappeared  in  tin-  opposite  wooils  ;  and  she  turned  away, 
\\ith  clasped  han. Is.  an. 1  moving  with  slow  footsteps,  In-ndm;.' 
f'Tin,  and  a  very  mournful  aspect,  murmuring  as  she  went,  the 
.-ne  word  "  Phill])."  She  too  was  soon  buried,  out  of  sight.  i< 
the  sheltering  bosom  of  the  mighty  forest. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

'•There  is  my  pledge  I    I'll  prove  it  ou  thy  heart. 
Ere  I  taste  bread,  them  art  in  nothing,  less 
Than  I  have  here  proclaimed  thee." 

KING  LEAR. 

WIIILU  these  events  were  in  progress,  in  and  about  the  precincts 
of  the  Indian  town  of  Chiaha,  Hernando  de  Soto  was  absent  from 
the  place.  He  had  led  a  portion  of  his  fonvs  in  pursuit  of  tin- 
fugitive  red  men,  who  had  left  their  village  in  consequence  of  the 
brutal  requisition  to  render  up  their  women  ;  and  a  report  «>f  tin- 
gathering  of  a  large  body  of  the  savages,  in  a  hostile  attitude, 
not  far  off,  had  aroused  all  the  eager  fury  of  the  Spanish  govern 
or,  to  pursue  and  punish  them.  He  had  pursued  with  his 
usual  energy,  but  without  encountering  the  subtle  enemy,  who, 
when  they  pleased,  could  readily  cover  themselves,  in  such  per 
fect  concealment  in  the  deeper  forests,  that  the  whole  army  of  the 
Adelantado  could  never  1'envt  them  out,  or  bring  them  to  battle. 
De  Soto  rested  his  troops,  after  the  fruitless  pursuit,  in  a  beauti 
ful  wood,  about  half  a  day's  journey  from  the  town  of  Chiaha. 
Here  he  waited  the  return  of  certain  of  his  oflieei-s,  whom  he  had 
sent  on  exploring  journeys  higher  up  the  country.  Nuno  de 
Tobar  was  thus  absent  with  twenty  lances:  Andres  de  Vascon 
selos  had  been  sent  forward  with  his  Portuguese,  to  feel  his  way 
along  the  banks  of  the  Coosaw,  and  to  prvpaiv  for  the  coining 
of  the  army.  There  were  a  tew  other  leaders  of  the  Spanish 
host,  who,  like  these,  might  have  had  sympathies  with  Philip  de 
Vasconsel os,  who  were  also  most  inopportunely  absent.  There 
was  probably  some  design  and  management  in  an  arrangement, 
which,  at  this  juncture,  removed  from  the  neighborhood  the  few 
persons  who  might  have  resisted  the  perpetration  of  a  cruel  wrong, 
aiid  brought  back  the  moods  of  De  Soto  to  such  a  condition,  a-> 
would,  at  least,  have  tempered  the  severities  which  he  might  el-e 
suppose  were  required  by  justice. 

The  star  of  Don  Balthazar  de  AUaro  was,  at  this  moment. 
completely  in  the  ascendant.  He  had  been  left  in  charge  of  tin- 
village  of  Chiaha,  when  De  Soto  undertook  the  pursuit  of  the 
fugitive  Indians.  It  was  his  task  to  assign  the  guards  to  the 
Princess  of  Co fachiqui ;  to  regulate  and  contiol,  in  lin-t.  all  the 
operations  within  Ms  command,  according  to  his  O\MI  discretion 

(432) 


MALICE    GROWS    KXMTANT.  433 

It  was  not  the  purpose  of  I),-  Soto  to  r.-turu  to  the  village, 
hut  to  proceed  onward,  following  th«- foot- t«-ps  of  the  pioneer 
f.rre  of  Andre-  de  Va  to  the  country  of  the  Alabama*. 

With   this  large   discretion   in    hi>   hands,  Don    Baltha/;f 

not  the  person  to  torero  the  gratification   of  any  of  his   passions. 

The  neriona  wh«>m  he  ha.l   appointed  to  take   charge  of  the  prin- 

;l!a,  were   his  own   creatures,  tin-  most  despicable  ,,f  the 

Common  of    his    divi-ion.      Doii     Baltha/ar    had    been 

.-led  h\  the  prinoeaa,      II.-  kn.-\v  tlu-  wild  lircntioiisn»-s>  whirh 

at  tbis time poasesaed the armj,     !!«•  kiu-\v  the  charactrr  ot'th..^- 

to  \vh.»M-  triid'-r  nit-rrios  he  entrusted  ht-r.      Hi-   ini^ht    lia\r 
dieted  the  event,  if  lir  did  not, — p.-rhap^  he  anticipated  it  ;  perha[<- 
he  anticipated    other   fruits  from    the  epidrmie   of  licence  whi.-h 
prevailed  aniontr  the  soldi. -rs.     It  is  not  improhable  that  \vh.-n  h«- 
was  foniid  hy  tlie  ruilian.  Pedro,  who  H.-.l  fn.m  the  rapier  of  ])..n 
PhUip,  conveni.-ntly  in  waiting  in  a  lonely  lodge  on  the 
th.-  l'.re-t,  that  he  himself  had  prompted   his  myrmidons  to  their 
brutality,  and  that  he  had  other  passions  to  -rrntJiV.  not  less  wild 
and  intense  than  that  of  revenge. 

<iivat  was  the  wrath  of  Don  Haltha/ar  when  Pedro  Martin 
mad-  his  report,  Gil  Torres,  with  a  bloody  sconce,  made  his 
appearance  soon  after,  which  confirmed  it.  The  rep-ri  Vfftfl  >u.-h 

•heir  own   -howinir.  n«>  -jood   Chri-tians  couhl   have 
more  innocent  of  evil,  or  virtuously  set  upon  doing  good.     Th- 
>lll)"rdhi  j  their  superior  fn'un  iniieh  of  the  Deoeasitj   of 

invention;  and  when-  they  failed  as  jirtMs.  he  supplied   th.' 

ti  in  ^their  ease.  The/  w.  re  prepared  to  ailinu  it  with  due 
>olemnitii-s  ;  and,  thus  armed,  Don  Haltha/ar  smote  one  hand 
with  the  other.  ;,nd  exclaimed  e\ultingly, — 

flor  Don   Philij.,  I  have  'th.-e   at  t-xtn-mitv.     Thou 
«Mii^t  •  me  now." 

11      .'..'-    ;  'he  two  >..ldiers.      II, •  called  up  .Juan  ( )rti/.  I  h  • 

interpreter,  to  a  private  ooofereiioe.     II.  had  aeoured  the  agency 

ofthlfl  simple  fellow,  wlio  \\a-  naturally  hostile  to  the  pom.j  . 
knii.dit.jis  the  latter  had  so  often  superseded  him  in  that  emplov 
in-  lit.  trom  which  he  derived  BO  much,  .f  his  importance  with  the 
:iri!l  llaltlu/ar  had  tutored  Orti/  alreadv  tohispurpo 

while  perMiadini:  the  interpreter  thai  they  were  'entirely  hi,  awn. 

tin  evidence  to  give  in  reaped  t«»  th  fD,.:, 

Philip --f,r  this  was  th  fam  which  Don   B.iltha/ar 

preparing  to  bring  our  knight  of  PortH-jal.     For  some 

he   had    l)een   e..neoctin.r    hi, 

p-cai    apider,  lurkinu'   un>een    in 

forth  his  numrn.us    silent.  iike  line 

19 


184  VA5CON8KLOS. 

to  be  wrought  by  patient  malice  into  meshes,  so  strong  as  to 
bind  utterly  the  unwary  victim.  His  meshes  were  now  complete, 
Phe  victim  was  in  the  toils,  and  he  had  now  only  to  proceed  to 
destroy  him  at  his  leisure. 

Furious  that  the  Princess  Cosalla  should  escape,  he  was  \  <  i 
delighted  that  the  event  afforded  him  evidence  so  conclusive 
against  Vasconsel os.  He  prepared  his  despatches  with  all  care 
to  DeSoto.  He  set  forth  the  facts  in  the  ease,  and  his  inferences 
He  suggested  the  course  of  procedure.  He  knew  but  too  w» •!! 
in  what  way  to  act  upon  the  enormous  self-esteem  of  the  Ade- 
lantado,  already  sufficiently  provoked  with  Don  Philip,  and  by 
what  subtle  artifices  of  suggestion  to  open  to  his  eyes  the  m«»>t 
past  and  various  suspicions  of  the  guilt  of  the  man  he  sought  to 
destroy.  Yet  all  this,  though  done  boldly,  was  done  adroitly, 
so  that  DeSoto  never  fancied  himself  taught  or  counselled  ;  and, 
acting  promptly,  on  the  very  suggestions  given  by  Don  Baltha 
zar,  he  yet  fancied,  all  the  while,  that  he  was  the  master  of  hia 
own  purposes. 

He  sent  back  instant  despatches  in  reply  to  those  which  ho 
received.  It  followed  that,  at  midnight,  Philip  de  Vasconselo^ 
was  summoned,  in  most  respectful  terms,  to  the  quarters  of  I  ><>n 
Balthazar. 

He  prepared  at  once  to  "hey.  .Juan,  the  page,  would  have 
followed  him;  but  the  summons  of  the  Don  had  entreated  him 
to  a  secret  conference,  and  Philip  gave  the  boy  in  charge  of  his 
lodge,  and  commanded  him  to  remain  where  he  was.  awaiting 
\<\^  return.  The  quarters  of  Don  Haltha/ar  might  have  been 
fcalf  a  mile  from  those  of  Philip;  but  the  latter  took  horse  to 
compass  the  interval.  He  went  in  armor  also.  Such  was  the 
practice;  and,  in  seasons  of  excitement,  and  with  doubtful  friends 
around  them,  such  was  the  proper  policy.  But  Philip  was  n-»t 
at  his  ea<e.  His  instincts  taught  him  to  dread  treachery.  He 
knew  Don  Baltlw/ar  too  well  to  put  faith  in  his  smooth  fcooenta, 
He  knew  that  the  hitter  mu^t.  hate,  and  would  strive  to  destroy 
him.  Juan,  the  paif.  had  like  instincts  and  an  even  better 
knowledge  of  the  man  than  had  his  master.  He  plucked  the 

knight  1>\  his  sleeve,  and  whispered — 

••  li.-ware.  Sefior: — thi-i  summons — this  man " 

Philip  laid  hi-  hand  gmtly  on  the  boy's  mouth,  and  said,  also  ii- 
a  whisper — 

"The.  good   knight   must  In-,  bold.  .Juan,  and  beinti  so.  must   al- 

bewan-  that  h<-  is  not  ti>n  bold.      But  to  caution  him  at  one 

hour  of  a  daniT'T  which    he    mint   confront,  by  force  of  duty,  at 

all   hours,   is    surely   an  <  >n.      Hear  me,  boy  :•— do  thou 

beware  that  thou  neglectest  not  the  duty  which  I  now  assign  thee. 


PARTING    OF    KNICH'l     AM>    PAGE.  436 

I  h-ive.  fur  a  loner  while,  meditated  f,,  <ri\v  thee  a  solemn  charge, 
in  anticipation  of  this  danger  of  death  whieh  wa  Ide  by 

with  the  -oldier.  There  an-  three  letters,  sealed  with  my 
signet,  ami  folded  in  silk,  which  you  will  timl  in  the  little  lea 
thern  ca-e  with  which  I  travel.  When  I  have  left  th. 

h  them  from  thi-  case,  and  take  tliem  into  thy  own  k< 
They  are  addivs-ed.  one  of  th.-m.  to  my  mother,  in  Portugal  :  — 
another    to    my    brother   Andre-;   and  a    thin!  to  a   1  ad v "of  the 
island    of   Cuba. — who-e  name — but    thoii    wilt    read    it'  on   tin? 
mi--ive.      The.-e   thou   .shalt.  it'  tliou   survived    me.  in  jrnod   faith 
deliver.      All  other  paper-  in  the  case   -halt    thou  thi- 
soon  as  1  have  left  th.v.  and  thou  fmd'st  tl, 
•   to  me.  boy.  on   the  I  Inly  (  Voss.  that    thou    wilt    do    these 
-which  I  have  bid.! 

knight  held  up  the  cross  hi Itrd  > word  as  he  spoke,  and  the 
Aith  a  convulsive  emotion,  seized  and  kissed  it.     Tlu-n,  \vith 

i — 
"<)h!  Sefior  Don  Philip,  suffer  that  I  follow  thoe  now— that 

ith  thee  to  thix  meeting  with  thy  en.  : 

"  Not  M  :   but  I  will  send  thee  word  how  and  when  to  follow, 
should  I  not  return  In-fore  noon  to-morrow.     For  this  ni<'ht    bov 

1  I     HI  v     ' 

farewell!" 

And  he  laid    his    hand  poiitly  on  Juan's  shoulder,  and  turned 
otV  a  moment   after.     But   the  boy  caught    the   hand  <juicklv  in 

d    it   fervently  in  both  of  his  own.  then  re 

it.  and    turned  away.     The  knight   looked  at  the  Moor  with  ai- 
moxt  loving  eyes. 

be   murmured  to  him-elf— "  verily,  thi>  boy  hath  a 

heart    and    soul,  and    he    i-  \vr\    l.-vin^":   and  with  Mich  a 

<l«'pth  •  Mom  witnessed  a1  I.      \Vh.  re 

.  and  drink-   in    BO    mu.-h.    it    is    rarely 

1    tbr  I.mjr  life.      Life  lingers  only  with   the  hard,  and    the 

ooM,  and  thoee  Wl  o|M,mieal  with  the  affections.    Th 

toad,  it    is   sai-1.  remaineth-  it  eamiot  be  -aid  that  he  liveth — for 
a  full  thou-and  year-.  ]..  ked  up  in  itoi 

Thus  BmaiDg,  die  knight  l.-ft   the  lodoe,  and  joiaed  the y ovag 
oant  who  brought   the   •  from  Don  Balthaar,  and 

who  awaited  him  at  the  entran.-.-.     Th,-y  mounted  hop-,    ii.-tantlv, 
;ll;ii  W  '  :-  the  viilaL'e  ;    i'ut  BCaroelj  had  !!, 

narrow  ,11M,i  hi'mself  surrounded  by  a 

:•  two  ,,f  hor-e.  (Votnth  f  \\horn  advaneed  a  Cap 

tain,  who  said,  in  -!. m 

"Seflor  Don    Philif.  d-  !os,  some  time  of  Klva-  ir. 

Portugal,  and  now  in  th.-  -ervi.v  uf  His  Most  Catholic  Ma 


486  VASCONSELOS. 

the  King  of  Spain,  &c.,  I  arrest  thee,  by  orders  of  hi  s  Excel 
lency,  Don  Hernando  de  Soto,  Governor  of  Cuba,  ami  Adelan- 
tado  of  Florida,  under  a  charge  of  High  Treason.  Yield  thy 
sword!" 

"  Treason  !"  exclaimed  Don  Philip  indignantly.  u  Treason  ! 
Where  is  my  accuser  ?" 

"  Thou  shult  see  and  hear  all  in  due  season!  At  present.  1 
am  commanded  to  bring  thee.  without  speech  with  any  one.  t<» 
the  presence  of  the  Adelantado." 

Resistance, — even   if  Don   Philip  had  been  deposed   t«« 
any — would  have  been  perfectly  idle.     lie  submitted  with  quiet 
dignity. 

"  Be  it  so  !"  he  answered,  quietly  yielding  his  sword — "con 
duct  me  to  the  Adelantado." 

The  party  set  off  that  very  instant.  The  knight  of  Portmral 
did  not  once  see  Don  Balthazar  until  they  met  in  the  pr 
of  De  Soto.  The  wily  spider  had  only  waited  to  Bee  Vaseon- 
selos  fairly  in  the  clutches  of  the  party  placed  in  waiting  for  his 
arn-t.  when  he  set  otV,  with  another  party  of  horse,  bringing  up 
th.'  ivar,  and  watchful  that  the  captive  should  find  no  means  of 
escape. 

It  was  nearly  noon  of  the  next  day  when  they  reached  tlie 
army.  It  was  encamped  on  a  pleasant  plain,  overshadowed 
every  where  with  great  trees  of  the  fore<t.  I  >e  Soto.  with  pride 
ami  passion  equally  roused,  was  impatiently  waiting  for  the 
arrival  of  the  offender.  No  delay  was  allowed  him  ;  and  the  pre 
paration  for  his  trial  had  been  made  before  he  came.  A  rude 
scaffolding,  upon  which  the  chair  of  state  had  been  plaeed  in 
readiness,  had  been  raised  for  the  Adelantado.  His  chief  knights 
were  grouped  immediately  around  him.  The  troops,  horse-  and 
foot,  including  the  parties  just  arrived, — all  under  arms,  wen- 
dispersed  so  as  to  form  a  half-circle  about  the  f/^/.v.  in  which 
every  thing  could  be  heard  and  seen  by  the  meaiie-t  soldier. 
There  they  stood"  in  grim  array,  with  burni-hed  weapon*,  in 
mail  and  escaupil,  banner  and  banneret  flying,  ami  the  gorj 
flag  of  Spain  floating  in  the  mid-4.  De  Soto  \va^  not  the  : 
to  omit  any  of  the  blazonry  and  pageantry,  the  Mate  and  cere 
monial,  which  belonged  to  his  auth<  rity.  Seated  in  his  chair  of 
state,  surrounded  by  his  knights,  he  ordered  that  the  prisoner 
should  be  brought  before  him. 

Philip  de  Vasci»u>i-!.»<.  conducted  by  his  fjuards  into  the  circle, 
abated  nothing  of  his  di^m'tv  or  noble  firmnes<.  as  he  MO.  M!  be 
fore  the  presence  in  whiHi  he  could  see  none  but  enemies.  He 
looked  around  for  the  few  persons  whose  sympathies  and  sup 


TREASON.  487 

be  might  h;i\v  hoped  for,  had  they  been  at  -hand.     Wh.-n- 
was  Nuno  de  Tobar  at  that  moment  ?    Where  was  his  brother, 
Andres?     In  their  absence,  he  readily  divined  that  no  prec.-iu- 
ii.id  been  omitted  by  his  enemies,  for  effecting  their  object. 
He  -aw  that  his  doom  was  writtm. 

This  conviction,  which  throw  him  so  completely  upon  Go 

D  -ml.  raised  him.  with  a  strength  of  will  and  character,  to 
faff  thr  event,  whatever  it  might  be. 

-  1   am   here,   under  bonds,  as  a  criminal,  Don   Reman  de 

-poke  Philip,  in  clear,  manly  tones,  his  eye  fixed  brightly 

the  \\hilc  upon  the  face  of  the  Adefantado :— "  1  demand  to  know 

of  what  I  am  accused,  and  that  my  accuser  shall  be   set    before 

•  Thou   shalt  have    thy   wish,    Philip  de    Vasconselos.     The 
charge  against  thee  is  that  of  hign  treason  to  His  Catholic  Majesty, 
with  whom  thou  has^  taken  service." 

-  1  brand  the  charge  with  falsehood.     I  am  no  traitor." 
"That  shall  we  see.     Thou  shalt  behold  and  see  thy  accuser-. 

and  the  witnc— < •-  -hall  be  brought   before  thee,  who  shall  prove 
thy  oiler: 

Vasconselos  folded  his  arms  patiently,  and  looked  coldly 
around  the  assembly,  while  Human  de  Soto,  who  did  not 
think  amiss  of  his  own  eloquence,  de-canted  in  a  sort  of  gen.  ra! 
•i  upon  the  atlair-  and  necessities  of  the  army;  the  duties 
of  a  good  knight,  and  faithful  subject;  the  high  trusts  and  con 
lidenee  which  had  been  L'iven  to  tin-  knight  of  Portugal,  and  the 
imperative  neces-itv  f.  r  condign  puni-hmciit.  wherever  trusts  had 
be«-n  forfeited,  and  the  tru-ted  person  had -hown  himself  unfaith 
ful.  Philip  smiled  scornfully,  in  a  bitter  mood,  as  he  listened  to 
certain  portions  of  <;  .  ;  and  the  cheek-  of  De  Sot 

(lelled  as  he  Ho1  '  Nfoll.        H  llCOSTTlOt' 

though   not   sufficiently,   when   he    reflected    upon  the   no* 
-liLrht  to  which  the  knight  of  Portugal    had  been  subjected  from 
.ml  how  small  had  been  the  tru-t  and  favor  shown 
him. 

Hi-  A-er,  he  pro-eeded  to  hi  -ions  under  it. 

"Thou     art     charged.     Philip    de     VttOOOMloC,    by    the    noble 
:tha/ar  de  with  having   betrayed  to   the 

Princess   of   ( 'ofachiqui    the    secret    councils   of    the    ton! 
wh.-n  thou  .er,  anil   when  it  w 

that  thf    safety  of  the   army    re«juin-d    that 
pei-son  inf-  -to.lv.      It    i- alle-:,..!    that   thou  diiNt  '• 

that  c..nferen.-f  to   the    Princess,  in  unl.-r   to  persuade  her 
cape  from  our  hands," 


438  VASCONSELOS. 

"  It  is  true,  that  I  did  so  endeavor  to  persuade  the  Princess 
Co$alla  to  escape,  and  in  this  was  I  faithful  to  my  oath  of  chival 
ry.  I  were  no  true  knight  to  have  kept  silence,  when  so  gr«>^  a 
wrong  was  meditated  against  that  gentle  and  lovely  young  Prin 
cess.  But  the  council  knew  my  sentiments  in  reference  to  that 
measure.  I  did  not  conceal  what  I  thought,  that  it  v, 
ness  which  would  forever  dishonor  the  Spanish  name." 

"  That  gave  thee  no  right  to  betray  the  councils  to  which  th<>u 
wert  admitted  on  the  implied  condition  of  thy  secrecy.  Thv 
faith  was  pledged  to  us;  and  the  crime,  if  crime  there  were,  f«-il 
upon  our  heads,  not  thine.  Then  lust  admitted  the  charge,  which 
ire  should  else  establish  against  tbee  by  no  le>s  than  three  repu 
table  witnesses.*' 

"  It  is  admitted,"  said  the  knight. 

"  It  is  next  charged  that  thou  didst  recently  set  upon  the  two 
soldiers  appointed  for  the  safe  keeping  of  the  princess,  didst  as 
sault  them  with  naked  weapons.  did>t  wound  one  of  them,  and 
put  in  mortal  fear  the  other,  and  didst  succeed  in  wresting  this 
princess  from  their  keeping,  so  that  ^he  has  made  full  escape  fi-.m 
our  care  and  custody,  thus  depriving  this  army  of  all  the  benefits 
which  grew  naturally  out  of  our  charge  of  her  person.'' 

"I  found  the  two  ruffianly  soldiers  to  whom  the  princess  had 
been  confided,  setting  upon  her  with  brutal  violence  and  foul  pur 
pose,  and  as  true  knight  and  gentleman.  I  did  so  rescue  her  from 
their  keeping.  I  had  no  purpose  in  this,  but  the  safety  and  inno 
cence  of  the  noble  woman." 

The  two  soldiers  were  brought  forward,  and  loudly  protested 
their  innocence,  making  affirmation  on  the  Holy  Evangel. 

"Thou  hear'stl"  said  De  Soto. 

"  I  hear,  Seftor.  Is  it  to  be  allowed  to  these  wretches,  thus 
charged  with  a  heinous  crime,  to  acquit  themselves  by  their  own 
asseverations  ?" 

"It  is  thy  oftence,  Seftor,  and  not  theirs,  which  is  now  before 
this  tribunal."  Such  was  the  interposition  of  Don  Baltha/ar. 

"And  it  is  in  answer  to  the  charge  against  me,  that  I  do  accuse 
these  ruffians  and  acquit  myself." 

"Were  such  privilege  awarded  to  the  criminal,  there  would 
be  no  witness  to  be  f >und  innocent,"  replied  De  Solo.  "Thou 
dost  not  deny  the  rescue  of  the  princess  from  her  keepers?" 

"  I  glory  in  the  act  too  greatly  to  deny  it,"  was  th*»  answer. 
"  I  am  proud  of  the  noble  service." 

"  Ha  !  We  shall  see  how  far  thy  exultation  in  the  deed  will 
suffice  to  acquit  thee  of  its  penalties  !  Hear  further: 

**  It  is  charged  that  thou  hast  been  a  wooer  to  this  princess  for 


FHB  LION   H  :  439 

her  love  ;  that    the  accord 

ing   to    the  fa-hion  ain«)!;_ 

spite  of  all  i  'hri-'i.ti.  rites;  ind   thai   -In-  hath  r 

and  thou  ha--«-  accepted  th  the  whole  empire  of  ti, 

lachian,  which   thou    mean'st    to    hold   adverseU    t;i  tin-  crown    of 

Spain,  to  \shich  thy  sworn  faith  i 

"The  charge  i-  M.)  leaa  false  than  foolish  !" 

"There  shall  be  proof  to  confound  th 

i;  i>  alleged — and    this   shall  be  j.ro\vd  hy.luai. 
— that  on  a  certain  OOOaakm,  when  at  Cofachi.mi,  thou 
upon  as  an  Interpreter  to  demand  of  th  that  her  ; 

he  rcimircd  t.)  bring  in  supplies  of  rnai/e   and  beans;    that    thmi 
didst    counsel    her   no/  to  comply  with  our  demand-  ;   and    didvt 
tell  her  that,  by  this  mean-,  -he  OOttkl  BtBTVC  IM  0 
try,  or  so  enfeeble  us   that   the  very  children   «.f  the     ' 
should  thru  be  the  Mia-tel's  over  us  in  flLrht." 

"The  charge  i-  wholly  false!      By  whom  eoiild  Mich  eh.r 
made,  seeing  that  no  one  of  the  army    but   myself  mid. 
the  language  of  the  people?      Who.  th.-n.  e,,uld 
-[token  b. -tweeii  the  primvs>  and  m\  -. 

"That  will  not  avail  thee, !      Our  Interpreter,  .luaii  Orti/. 
a  keen  ear  and  ijui.-k  comprehension;  and  so  far  hath 
of  this  language,  that    he    hath   been   enabled   [<>  f  .i;,,w  th 
scan   thy  proceedings,  and  detect  thy  treacheries.       lie   . 
boldly  that  such  was  thy  speech  to  the  pri: 

"  He  hath  mi-under>t4)od  me."  ivplii-d  the  knight  of  P 
u  fn»m  a  too  imfierfcet  kn-«wle.li:e  of  wliat    i. 
truth,  was  Sp..k.  n.  was  to  the  enVt  th.r 

a  people  to  be  Carved  out,  be-'ause  of  the  refu-al  «.f  ih.-  r.  .1  m.-n 
to  bring   in    their   supplies— f,r  such  ha<l  been  the  nature  of  the 

•h — and    that    they  \v«»i; 
found,  and.  WOul  -  itK-r  then 

t\ey  fed  upon  the  children  of  th.-  tribe.      I  was  only  too  faithful 
t  *  the  Spaniards  when  I  -poke  to  the  princ. 

4  Ha!   in  painting  them  as  heathen  canni: 

"It  was  but  a  threat,  your  Kxci-lieiiey." 

"A  threat]    r.ut  wherefore,  when  this  ] 

to  thee.  did-t  thi'ii  not  r.-prat  h.-r  1 

u  Of  •  :  ;    the  pr«.vi-i,,ns  were  : 

u  Hut    We    should    h:i  •     th,-    prof,' 

of  thy  arjrunieiit-.  S.-flor.      It  were   a    i 

h-mnly.  wh.-thd  i!d    -utl.-r   the.-    to    depict,  rv.-ri    to    thu 

••:  n.  th«-  (  MrtlM  warrior 

eager  to  feed  on  human  hY-h." 


440  VASCONSELOS. 

"  If  your  Excellency  is  pleased  to  speak  of  this  bold  threat 
with  so  much  solemnity,  I  can  make  no  answer  to  thee." 

"  Ay,  thou  need'st  not !  Thou  hast  made  answer  suffieient  for 
thy  ruin.  Thou  hast  thyself  admitted  the  charges  which  would 
condemn  thee;  and  if  thou  did  it  not.  here  are  the  witnesses  who 
should  prove  thy  treacherv.  Hast  thou  any  who  can  sav  aught 
in  thy  defence T 

"None.  Seftor ;  since  I  see  that  the  tew  gentlemen  who  have 
best  knowledge  of  my  nature  and  performances,  are  not  in  this 
assembly;  it  will  be  for  those  to  answer  to  their  eou-eietices, 
by  whom  they  have  been  sent  away  at  this  juncture." 

"Docs  the  Knight  of  Portugal  impute  to  me  a  wrong  ? — tor  it 
was  I  by  whom  they  were  sent  away,  and  by  the  Holy  Cross, 
I  swear  that  when  they  were  thus  sent  away.' 1  had  no 'thought 
that  thou,  or  any  other,  should  be  arraigned  for  trial,  on  these, 
or  any  other  charg. 

"Your  Excellency  is,  no  doubt,  free  of  offence  in  this  matter, 
but  there  is  one  person,  at  least,  for  whom  truth  could  never  <ay 
so  much,  and  who  hath  wrought  this  scheme  for  my  ruin.  There 
is  one  proof  that  I  might  offer — one  witness — "  and  he  paused. 
De  Soto  quickly  said — 

"Speak,  Sefior,  and  he  shall  be  brought.  I  will  gladly  accord 
them  all  chance  of  speech  and  hearing." 

"Nay,  Seflor,  I  know  not  that  it  will  need  or  avail.     It  was  "f 
my  page,  the  boy  Juan,  that   I  had  thought.     He  knows  1- 
my  acts  and  motives.     Besides,  he  hath  gathered  even  more    of 
this  language  of  the  Apalachian,  than  this  man*  Ortix,  could  pos 
sibly  have  done." 

"The  boy  is  a  -lave, your  Excellency — a  wretched  Moor,"  inter- 
posed  Don  Balthazar;  "he  can  give  no  evidence  in  a  case  a  Meet 
ing  both  Christian  knights  and  Castilian  gentlemen." 

"But  I  would,  nevertheless,  have  had  him  here,  Seflor  Dor 
Baltha/ar,"  answered  De  Soto,  with  some  asperity  in  his  accents. 
"  Why  was  he  not  brought?" 

"  It  was  not  known,  your  Excellency,  that  his  presence  would 
be  required  as  a  witness,  or  for  any  other  purpose.  Th«-  S«-n<>r 
Don  Philip  did  not  signify  any  win  upon  the  MT 

"And  how  should  1  have  done  go,  yur  Exeeli-  weivd 

Philip,  with  a  scornful  look  at  Don  Baltha/ar,  though  addre-sing 
^o,  "when  I  was  not  suffered  t«»  suspect  the  strait  in  which 
I  stood — when  I  was  beguiled  from  my  lodgings,  upon  false  pre 
tences  of  kindmss  and  counsel,  and  sei/ed  without  warning  or 
summons,  by  a  troop  of  cavalry  at  midnight?  I  saw  not  the 
boy  after  my  arrest,  and  until  the  moment  when  I  met  with  him 


CHALLKNGK    TO    SINGLE    COMBAT.  441 

hero,  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro  did  not  permit  that  I  should 

him  " 

-  I  trust,  Seftor,"  said  De  Soto  to  Don  Balthazar,  "  that  th<»u 
hast  not  proceeded  in  any  way  in  this  matter  unbecoming  a  true 
knight." 

sere  sorry  policy,  your  Excellency,"  was  the  cool   : 

warning  to  the  traitor  of  your  purpose  to  tit-  his  h  . 
till  th«-  cord  i-  * 

-Su:  is"  no  hardship  in    such  proceeding.     The  -us. 

is  not  to  be  suffered  chance-  of  r-cape  ;   but  when 
the   knight   of  .'.    was  in   thy    hands.   th<>u   >hould.-t   have 

1    he    lacked  mi   proper 

:Mi  buy  could    BeTVC   thee.  S,-ft..r.  for   hi- 
wi-i-_'ht    :r_rai::-t    th-'    1"  tf«-r    tc-tinior,. 
tian  \vitn.- 

!  I   kii'-w  not    that    li«-   could    -ay  any  thiniT.  yi.iir    i 
Icii'-y.  in    my  In-half.      He  could -on'  ite   lii-   own  igno- 

ry  on  th«-  part  <»f  Philip  dr 

.-.lit  kiii'jht  or  ^rntlcinan.      1  have  \\<>  \vitn»-ss0s  but 
(I     ;  :,nd  th«-  b  Xtviour.      T««   them    I    make   appeal   against 

mv  et.emv.      lint  I  claim   the   p:  mbat,  \» 

In'iey.  wii'h  m;  :•-  my  guilt   or  my  inno-  -t  "ii  the 

i>vii  .-Mnbut.       I    throw    down    my    gauntlet    in    mortal 

and   eha!'  'he  fudd    <>f  battlr.  hi-  linst 

mini-,  with   lain1.-  or  <w<»rd.  and   battle-a\e    ;tnd    •!.  with 

an\  n   that    ),••     plea-c-.    the   foul.   ba<e.    di-lv 

and  ju-rjun-d  knight.   D"ii    Laltha/ar  <!••    Alva: 
don  •'.iirhl.  by  :' 

witiii-H<r>!.  to  do  m«-  to  death,  and  to  stain  with 
that  has  alway- hitherto  b,-en  pure  and  without  dishonor,      '1 

•  deny  m«  my 

truth  :iee.,r.linu  to  the  law-  «. farms.     I  claim  tin-  \va-_r--r  • 

I!  .,nd    firmly  a-    .  .  and    throwing 

d'i\v!i  h:  •  otto  voce, 

but  still  '  •  . 

d — 

"  I/:-  ;-.  if  thou  would-t  not  be  known  for  the  dastard, 

as  I  know  th.-.-  tbr  the  villain  and  the  kna\ 


CHAPTER    XL. 

t  "  Take  this  life, 

And  cancel  these  cold  bonds.' 

CTMBKIJM. 

THERE  was  a  marked  and  lively  sensation  throughout  the 
Assembly.  The  ravage  and  mercenary  soldiers  of  that  <lav  w. .-re 
not  wholly  insensible  to  the  courage  of  a  truly  noble  soul,  and. 
little  loving,  as  they  were,  of  the  foreigners  who  had  mortified 
their  pride,  on  such  frequent  occasions,  the  Castilians  were  com 
pelled  to  acknowledge  how  admirable,  calm,  fearless  and  chival 
rous  was  the  whole  bearing  of  Philip  de  Vasconselos. 

But  Don  Balthazar  did  not  lift  the  glove.  There  might  have 
been  seen  a  red  suffusion  coloring  suddenly  his  swart hv  check* 
as  he  heard  the  epithets  applied  by  the  knight  of  Portugal  ;  but, 
otherwise,  he  was  apparently  unmoved.  He  answered  with  a 
cool  and  quiet  indifference,  which  betrayed  the  long  and  hard 
training  of  his  political  life. 

"  Nay,  Seftor,  thy  glove  is  no  longer  such  as  an  honorable 
knight  and  gentleman  may  lift  without  stain  upon  his  fingers. 
Thou  hast  not  the  right  to  claim  the  ordeal  of  battle.  This  would 
be  thy  right  were  I  the  accuser,  and  the  only  witness  against  thee  ! 
Then  mightst  thou  claim  to  put  thy  \)ody  as  thy  word  against 
mine,  and  cry  upon  God  to  defend  the  right!  But  such  is  not 
now  the  case.  Thy  crimes,  partially  confessed  by  thyself,  arc 
al>o  proven  by  sundry  Christian  witnesses,  sworn  on  Holy 
Kvangel.  I  claim  the  judgment,  your  Excellency.  " — turning 
to  De  Soto, — "upon  the  arch  traitor,  Philip  dc  Va»<-<msclo-.  who 
hath  betrayed  the  counsels  and  the  trusts  .  ,f  UN  Most  Catholic 
Majesty,  given  him  in  keeping,  and  hath  meditated  and  devN.-d 
still  further  treasons,  as  hath  been  shown  by  sworn  witne- 
I  claim  the  judgment  upon  the  said  traitor,  and  that  he  be  done 
to  death  without  delay  !" 

Thciv  \\;is  a  momentary  start. — a  slight  recoil  on  the  part  of 
Vasconselos,  as  he  heard  the  words.  It  is  barely  possible  that  he 
had  not  apprehended  that  the  malice  of  his  enemies  would  attain 
to  this  extremity  ;  but,  if  his  emotion  expressed  surprise,  it  wa-j 
without  fear.  He  looked  on  and  listened,  without  other  show  of 
•motion. 

(441) 


CHIVALROUS    KE.SIG  NATION  443 

"What    hast    th.m    to  -ay.  Philip  de  Ya-eon-clos,  against  thb 
plea  torj'.idgm.-nt  .'"  i  the  Addantado. 

"What  should  1  >a\  -.  S,  -nor  .' — what  could    I    say.  that  would 

avail  for  my  >at'.-t\   .'      To  endeavor  to  sj.rak    at    all — to  seem  tc 

indeed,  anv  thing  from    iny  speech,   or  any  speech,    in   tin: 

juncture  of  affairs,-   would  only  .-how  me  as  ignorant  of  the  ma 

ire  of  t!i.-  virtues  which  are  alway>  hate 

fill  in  their  sight  !      I  wouhl    i;  weak  and   fooli-h   even  ii 

the  eye-  that  hold.  < -r  pretend  to  hold  me.  dishonored  !  1  have 
no  more  to  >ay.  1  am  in  the  power  of  mine  enemies.  1  .-hal 
only  >peak  to  <;,.d  \" 

••  Y"ii  are  in  my  power.  Philip  de  Vasconselos." 

"And  you,  Softer,"  replied  the   other  boldly,  "a-sured  a<  ym 

deem  your>elf  of  the    powers  which    control  your  will  and  pas 

sions,  are  vet  >ervini:the  pas-ions  of  others  — passions  which  make 

;,-ful!v  inine   enemy,  as  it'  thy  deliberate  will  and  thy 

own  bitter  prejudices  and  dislike  had  made  thee  so.      The  powei 

that    is    passionate  and  proud,  and  the  pride    that    is    prejudiced 

are  thus   «-ver  tin-    instrument-    of  injustice,  and    the   blind   crea 

.     and    subtler    criminal.     The    cunning  art: 

which,  taking  advantage    of   thy   j-a-.-ionate    mo^is   ha\  e    madi 

.dly  and    even   har-hly  upon   me  from  the 

nini:.    ha\e    n.-t     been    un-crji    by    mi-.   tli«>'.:i:h    unsuspected    by 
Th'-v    have    triumj'hed.    in    this    present    consummation 
«.ver   mv  life  and   hon  >r,  as  they  have  triumphed  over  thy  mag 
nanimity  and  prudence.    1  can  in  noway  oppose  them.    No  word: 

of  mine  can  now  enlighten  thee<  Then  must  work  thy  will. 

of  what  is  justice.      1  yield  to  the  tatc  to  which  1 
can   oppo--  neither  argument  nor  valor.      P.ut,  if  1  peri-h  b\  thy 
•    that  foul  and  Mibtlekna.v  ami  slander 
er,  who  has  woven  around   me   tli<  and  me-h'-j.  I  perish 
without    shame    or  dishonor.      Nor  do  I  perish  without    i 

.  in  tlie  la-t  w-.rds  which  1  address  to  th\  ears,  Il-Tiian 
'.  1  cite  thee  for  jinlgment  with  n. 

of  .Indue-,  wh-'in    r  ID    mi-lead.  \\h«»m  no  ju-idf.  or  pas- 

sion.  or  prejudice    can    turn    from  j.aths  of  ju-tice  !      Thou  shall 

I'-   tribunal!      There   -halt    th»u  behold  that 

traitor  confounded  eternally,  \\lio  now   -it>.  -m«>oth  and  smiling, 
Mid  cunning,  exulting  in  thebf  fa  triumph 

and  who  could,  thi 

well  know<.  -peak  of  him  such  UiiriLT-  as  should  make  the  foulest 
heart  in  this  a— ernblv  turn  from  him  with  horrid  shudd,  ' 

.-loathing.    I  shall  say  no  more,     Do  with  me  aa  thou  wilt" 
The   patient    --ubmi  -ion    \\hirh         '  f   calmly    to   iu 


444  VASCONSELOS. 

evitable  fate,  always  wears  an  aspect  of  great  nobleness.     When 

Philip  de  Vasconselos  was  led  from  the  presence  of  the  assembly- , 

-  followed,  on  all  sides,  by  glances  of  silent  admiration  and 

a  compelled  respect.      He  was  withdrawn,  by  the  guards,  while 

the  Adelantado  and   his  council   sate  in  private  judgment   on   his 

fate.      Long  was  the  conference   that    followed.'     f»on    Baltha/ar 

-trcnuously  urged  the  doom  of  death.      Hut    De  Soto,  filled  with 

chivalrous  notions,  was   not    prepared    to    yield  to  the  malignant 

tion.      It  is  possible  that  lie  somewhat  susju-cted  that 'there 

ome  truth   in    the   charge   of  malignitv  and    slander  whirh 

Philip   had   brought  against  Don  Balthazar.      lie  had  long  l>een 

aware  of  the  dislike  which  they  mutually  felt  tbr  each  other.      He 

said  to  the  latter — 

"Verily,  Don  Balthazar,  this  knight  of  Portugal  hath  bitter 
thoughts  of  thee." 

-  When  had  the  criminal  other  thoughts  of  him  who  declares 
his  crime  ?" 

"But  I  somewhat  fear  that  thou  hast  pushed  this  matter  to  the 
uttermost." 

"Grant  it  be  so,  Seflor  ; — there  is  enough,  besides,  in  the  con- 
•n  which  he  made  to  suffice  for  his  conviction." 

"True!  True!  He  hath  confessed  to  the  betrayal  of  our 
purpose  to  the  princes*,  and  to  the  charge  of  assault  upon  our 
officers,  and  her  rescue." 

"These  are  crimes  worthy  of  deal, i  !  This  i>  treason  !  What 
had  Cortez  or  Pi/arro  done  to  the  knight,  or  knights.  v\ ho  had 
iv>cued  Monte/tuna  and  the  Inca  from  their  guards,  and  M-t 
tin  in  free  to  work  the  ruin  of  the  army  and  the  enterprfc 

"They  had  been  made  to  fa>te  of  the  sharp  ed^e  of  the  axe  ! 
—  But.  1  will  r.ot  slay  this  knight  of  Portugal  !  He  hath  done  u- 
good  service,  and  there  is  some  ivbuke  of  conscience  that  1  feel, 
for  his  too  much  neglect,  and  tor  the  cold  a>peet  which  I  ha\e 
shown  him.  Besides,  I  owe  him  a  life.  But  for  his  BUCCOr  I 
had  probably  perished  under  the  savage  a>-ault  of  the  fierce  Flo 
ridian.  Vitachuco.  I  cannot  forget  these  lhi;i"s.  I  will  not  take 
the,  life  of  this  man  !" 

"What  !  Wilt  thou  forgive  Hi-h  treachery  /  \\  ilt  thou  .-uil'.-r 
this  traitor  still  to  harbor  with  thee  and  devise  new  li 

"No!  the  army  shall  be  purged  of  him  !  nor  >ha!l  he  escape 
without  due  pnni>hmcnt.  He  i,  proud  !  !!••  is  a  belted  knight, 
and  hath  won  his  spurs  in  ( 'hri-fendom  '  I  will  degrade  him. 
according  to  the  proper  laws  of  chivalry,  which  he  holds  in  MI.-!I 
veneration!  His  shield  shall  be  reverted;  his  scul<  lu  on  shall 
;  his  armor  shall  be  taken  from  his  breast,  and 


THE    D«n»M    uF    TKl:l:uK.  446 

be  battered  into  shapeles-m--  ;   hi-  >\v..r-l  -hail  !•••  broken  b«  •! 
his    ey.s;   his  helmet   shall  be   fouled    in   the    moTSM  j   and.  with 
n>ju>  'about   his    neck.  his  spurs  >hall  In-  hewn  from  his  lu-.-K  by 
tin-    a\c   of  the   common    executioner!      Then  >hall  he  !•••  di;. 
with  blow  and   bullet   from    the   army,  ami,  lied    to  '  he 

forat,  h«  shall  be  leti  to  the  merciesofth-  "t1  Aj-a- 

hu-hia.    to   whom   he  hath    sliown    Midi   lav.-r.      Doubtlei 

will    remember   the    service,  an.l    take    him    hit  ikeltoring 


SofeO    liavini:  deelared  his  purpose,  tliere  was  no  further  ar 
ment.      l)«j;i  i)altha/ar,  liowevi-r,  though  confounded  for  a  mo 

at    the   novel    terrors   of  the    propose*!  puni  -hmeiit,  woiil-1 


Vl.t  ;  re.  1  the  >liarp  and   summary  judgment  of 

•  lVa-1    men   tell   im  ta!e>"  —  and    so    l<>)!Lr   BS    Philip  de 

Ollg  did     he    feel    for  the 

satetv  of  hi-  terrible  WOret,      lie  did  not  appreciate  the  hurts  «.f 
honor  s<.  liighly  M  I  >*•  Soto. 

iiii-jht  Of  Portugal  was  oner  more  brought   before  til 
elantado.      From  th--  lips  of  his  haughty  judge  In-  lizard  the  doom 
.  even    as  v.  v  li  a:~d    it.      Then 

1  ^n>w  pah-;   th«-n  di.l  his  lips  «|uiver; 

was  his  s..ui  thrown  i>aek  up-'ii  itself,  witli-^i  lu-in^  able 
to  find  support!  H".ir-e!y.  with  a  cry  almost,  as  he  heard  the 
jinl_rment.  he  imp!»)re«l  for  a  change  of  doom  ! 

-  Death!       Death,  ra-h-r  than   sudi   doom   a<  this'/'—  wa-  t!ie 
pa^'h  'iiati-  cut  i 

And    shuddering,  he   knelt—  the    proud    man  knelt  —  humbling 
himself  before   man  —  bcf>iv   the    man  who  had  already  wr« 
him.  --\\lio  wronged    him   still;    -but   in  \\hose    power    ' 
;:nd  \\ho.  alone,  ill  that  world  of  wildern-  - 

him!      In   our  day,  we   -houhl  fail  ji:~ 

,f  the  d<»M!i  pronoun.-ed  '  :poii 

•'  Portugal.     The  fantastic  chiva  ;.l  a  reli- 

•  .    • 

^itado.  was  th.-  '      the  whol  ..... 

hated  the  n-im.  for. 

n    (-f  all    former    deeds   of  va'.o;  !      i 
.'.  and   of  all    the  hop-,  and  i 

:ieath  it  !      II 
kn.M^    -he  humbled  Mmsetf  M   i  •  en,  —  he  : 

,i\,-    -  :    ;     :      "        '  lull  'hi-  ! 

i  K.    >N.t.   ,!'!/,.  '.    -denied   \\ith    wrorJi 
•|'1;.  :ent,rw»ol\'  !   -trong  to  endin>. 


446  VASCONSELOS. 

cause  of  that  denial,  ami  tho.se  words  and  looks  of  scorn!  He 
arose,  erect,  and  looked  coldly  on  his  judges.  But  there  was  a 

terrible  glare  from  his  eyes,  which  made  all  other  eyes  look  aside ! 
His  lips  were  now  compressed,  but  big  drops  of  blood  could  be 
seen  slowly  lo  oo/e  from  between  them,  and  to  form  themselves 
in  heads  upon  his  heard.  lie  stood,  and  for  a  few  moments 
there  was  a  deep  pause  in  the  assembly.  Then,  at  a  signal  from 
DeSotO,  the  executioner  came  forward  with  his  assistants.  Thev 
passed  a  halter  about  his  neck.  He  offered  no  resistance.  He 
did  not  even  turn  his  glances  upon  them,  when  they  laid  hands 
upon  his  shoulder.  But  as  they  led  him  out,  he  looked  steadily 
at  I)e  Soto,  and  said  solemnly  : 

"ADios!" 

The  words  were  not  spoken  by  way  of  farewell.  They  were 
in  the  nature  of  a  citation  ;  and  so  De  Soto  understood  them ; 
and  a  sudden  paleness,  the  shadow  of  a  presentiment,  overspread 
his  face.  But  the  emotion  passed  from  his  soul.  The  drums  and 
trumpets  sounded.  The  assembly  was  broken  up,  and  the  army, 
forming  a  grand  procession,  was  marched  at  once  to  the  place  of 
execution. 

And  there,  the  central  object  of  that  great  array,  stern,  lofty, 
helpless,  but  resigned,  stood  the  noble  victim — resolute  to  sub 
mit,  but  not  wholly  able  to  conceal  the  terrible  emotions  which 
racked  his  soul  !  There,  bound  by  the  degrading  halter  to  the  tree, 
by  the  hands  of  the  common  executioner,  he  was  subjected  to  all 
the  details  of  the  cruel  and  malignant  judgment,  as  we  have  re 
ported  them.  His  sword  was  broken,  his  shield  reversed,  it.s 
blazonry  obliterated,  before  his  e\  M  !  The  armor  was  torn  from 
hi-  per-on,  and  battered  with  blows  of  a  club;  his  helmet  was 
hurled  into  a  neighboring  morass.  And  he  saw  and  was  silent, 
—  looking  the  while  steadily  upon  the  Adelantado  with  eyes  of 
a  deep  mysterious  solemnity,  that  spoke  for  dread  and  terrible 
thoughts,  as  well  as  suHcrings  ! 

But  when  the  executioner  approached  with  his  axe — when  the 
prisoner  wa-=  mad.-  to  lift  his  feet  and  place  them  upon  the  block, 
and  when,  one  by  one.  the  golden  spurs  of  knighthood  were  hewn 
from  his  heels  h\  repeated  blows,  then  broke  the  groan  of  a^'iiv 
from  his  overcharged  bosom,  and  he  threw  out  his  powerful  arms 
and  grasped  the  stalwart  executioner,  e\en  as  he  had  been  ;:ii 
infant  in  hi-  grasp,  and  hurled  him  awa\ .  staggering,  while  a  ho\\  I. 
rather  than  a  crv.  following  the  <;roan.  seemed  sent  up  to  heaven 
— by  way  of  reproaeh.  for  that  it  looked  on.  and  beheld  this  ter 
rible  injustice,  while  the  great  eye  of  the  ^\m  peered  down  from 
the  noon -duy  skies,  as  bright  and  serein;  ;is  if  all  below  was 


PHI  LI  I'  LKKT  TU  HIS  FATE.  447 

oecoming  in  heaven's  eye  as  it  was  beautiful  to  that  of  man! 
Vasconsclos  hurled  away  the  executioner, but  not  before  his  task 
was  done!  The  spurs  had  been  smitten  ofl*  clean  at  the  heel, 
and  the  work  of  degradation  was  complete.  His  violence  was 
the  >udden  impulse  of  an  accumulated  despair,  which  \vu>  no 
loiiirer  suppressible. 

AL  moment   after   this   one    denmnsti  Vii«»n  of  agony  and  vio 

lence,  and  the  knight  of  Portugal  remained  passive.    Still  fettered 

by  the  cord  of  the  hangman,  and,  by  the  neck,  to  a  sapling  of  the 

.  he  looked  on  the  rest  of  the  proceedings  with  a  strange, 

but  not  unnatural  calm. 

Then  De  Soto  made  a  speech  to  his  army,  the  substance  of 
which  we  may  conjecture.  The  bugles  sounded  ;  the  eavalrv 
wheeled  into  compact  squadrons,  the  infantry  shouldered  arms. 
and,  to  the  sound  of  triumphant  imi>ic,  the  whole  army  marched 
from  the  ground.  Fettered  to  the  tree,  with  only  a  sullicieiit 
length  of  rope  to  enable  him  to  sink  down  at  its  foot,  Philip  de 
Vasconselos  was  left  alone,  in  the  centre  of  th;;t  now  dreary 
forest 

The  army  was  under  marching  orders.  Preparations  for  the 
renewal  of  its  progress  had  been  made  before  the  trial,  and  that 
act  consummated,  the  li-gions  of  De  Soto  departed  the  spot  to 
see  it  no  more!  Philip  was  left  to  his  faU — the  fangs  of  the 
wolf,  the  soalpir.g-knife  of  the  savage,  or  the  crueller  death,  l>v 
remorseless  hunger!  He  could  hear  the  distant  music,  gradually 
<_rrowing  fainter:  finally,  the  faint  bugle-note  advised  him  of  the 
movement  of  the  rear-guard  ;  and  soon,  this  too  melted  a\\av  in 
tiie  great  world  of  space,  and  he  remained  with  silence,  in  the 
lepths  of  the  Apalachian  snlitud. 


CHAPTER    XLL 

"  Had  they  known, 

A  woman's  hand  secured  that  deed  her  own. 
The  worst  of  crimes  had  left  her  woman  •till." 

CORSAIK. 

THE  army  of  the  Adelantado  proceeded  on  its  march  along  the 
waters  of  the  Coosaw,  but  Don  Balthazar  de  Alvaro  returned,  with 
his  detachment  of  cavalry,  to  the  village  of  Chiaha.  To  him  was 
allotted  the  duty  of  bringing  up  the  rear-guard,  with  the  heavy 
baggage;  and  he  was  required  to  remain  in  Chiaha  until  the 
smaller  bodies  which  had  been  sent  forth  on  exploring  expedi 
tions,  under. Nuno  de  Tobar,  Andres  de  Vasconselos  and  others, 
should  return.  Chiaha  was  the  appointed  place  of  their  rendez 
vous. 

There  was  an  exulting  spirit  in  the  bosom  of  Don  Balthazar, 
as  he  led  his  troopers  away  from  the  field  where  he  had  witness- 
ed  the  degradation  of  Philip  de  Vasconselos.  lie  had  triumphed 
over  his  enemy  ;  and  there  was  now  no  danger  that  the  knight 
of  Porting!  would  ever  cross  his  path  in  the  progress  of  the 
expedition.  The  penalty  of  his  return  was  death.  Don  Baltha- 
iar  would  h-ive  preferred  that  this  punishment  should  have  !>eeii 
the  one  infli  -t.-.l.  He  did  not,  himself,  attach  much  importance 
to  what  h-  thought  the  fantastic  notions  of  honor  and  shame, 
which  were  taught  by  the  laws  of  chivalry  ;  and,  were  it  not  that 
the  punishment  of  I)on  Philip  implied  his  utter  banishment  from 
the  armv,  and  his  almost  certain  death,  in  the  condition  in  which 
he  h;id  been  left,  from  the  fierce  flings  of  the  wild  bea^t,  or  the 
reckle-  arrow.;  of  the  savage,  he  might  have  been  still  ill  at  ea<e 
in  respect  to  some  of  his  securities.  In  truth,  he  -till  had  some 
lurking  apprehen  ions  that  Philip  de  Vasoonaelofl  wa>  yet,  in 
s«>me  w:iv.  his  evil  genius;  destined  yet  '<>  re-appear,  and  con 
front  him  with  that  danger  which  had  >o  long  haunted  his  ima 
gination!  With  thi  i  fear,  it  occurred  to  him.  mop-  than  once, 
!  b.i  !,  one  «>f  his  trooper^  to  dispatch  secretly  the  de- 
grad.-  1  k:,i':lit  ;  but  this  \va<-  pl:i<-iM^  him-elf  too  completely  in 
Uie  power  of  his  creature;  and  lie  Well  knew  that  such  a  fact, 
••  v..:,le.l  toDeSoto  and  th,'  army,  would  bi  ily  his  own 


THE    MELANCHOLY    PAGK.  449 

ruin;  would   confirm,  to    the  Adelantado.  the  accusations  made 
by  Vaaoonseflk,  and  would  ami  the  few  fri.-n  l-  itter— 

few,  but  brave  and   powerful  —  \\ilh  perpetual  hostility  an-i  ren 
ts  content  IP  leave  the  doomed  noble  to  his  fate, 
as  it  had  been  pronounced   \>\    !)«•  Soto,  and  ;  before  hi* 

-uading  himself  that    his  death    was    inevitable,  or.  at   all 

events,  that    the    danger  from   that    one  >ource  had  1 n  driven 

wholly  from    his  own   path,  he  went  on    his  way  to  Chiahii  with 
id  exulting  spirit.      Hi-    iva<  hed  the  village  late  in  the 
night.     There  was  «,till    an    eager    mood    hurrying  him  to  other 
performances;  and  when   he    had    di-mis^ed    his  troops  to  their 
several  stations,  received    the    report  of  the  officer  left    in   com 
mand,  and    refreshed    himself  with  a  bottle  <>f  canary,  he  threw 
f  once  more  into  the   saddle.     The  soldier  on  duty  In-fore 
his  <martcr<.  asked,  "Shall  I  mount  and  follow  yon,  - 
"  No!    Keep  your  D08t      I  want  nobody.'' 
The    expedition   which    now    prompted   the   nocturnal   move 
ment-;  of  Don  Balthazar,  was  of  a  sort   to  require  no  win 
The  areh-tiend.  now  working,  more  than  ever  powerful  witrun  his 
soul,  and    stimulating   a   crowd  «>f  pa-Mons    int.. 
was  all-suilieient  for  his  oorapanionship.     Don  Balthazar  gallop 
ed  <>lF,   in  the  direction  of  the  cabin  which   had  been  occupied  l»y 
Philip 

The    page,    Juan,    did    not    -l.-ep.      He  had    fully  execmed  the 
.  him  in  charg.-  by  his  master;   had  possessed  himself 
three  papi-rs.  aii<l  destroyed  th.-  rc-t.     This  t-inp!o\nient. 
and  the  contemplation  of  the  several  addiv-ses  of  the  latter,  had 
filled   the  boy  with  the  nnM  melancholy  moo.l.      One  of  the  let 
ters  hr  ,lid    little  but  coiitemplati'.      With  perpetual  tears  in  his 
be   did  nothing  but  read  <»v.-r  the  supers.-ripti.m.      T:. 

in  SO;TO\S  .^ic  apprehensions.    VasoOB8elO6 did 

urn  by  noon.     Th"  b..y  imjuir.-d  for  him  in  vain.  an.. 
only  learn   that    he   had  ridd»  n  out  with  the  detachment  of  h»r->e 
upon  a  secret  expedition.      }',ut  why  had   he   not  been  permitten 
•mpany  thi-  expedition  .'      The   privilege  had  never  before 
been  deni»-d  him.     T  :l!iir  which  trou 

bled  him,  and  he  neither  ate  during  th.-  day.  nor  BOttghl 
during  the   night.      He   \s  fipom    int* •: 

alk.-d.    as    the    night     advanced,   in    th< 

•     :  ude    chamber  of  th.-    red     man,    \\hi«-h    \v  ;n 

dimly  lighted    by  the    brands    nf  pine   which    hi::.  ringU 

. i. •  hearth.       \Vhi!e    thu-    m-)-)dii\  .'-.1  tlu- 

galbp  of  a  horse  approaching.     He  trembled,*  and  clasped  his 


450  VASCONSELOS. 

hands ;  then  felt  that  all  the  letters  were  safe  within  his  bosom, 
and  experienced  a  strange  and  sudden  dread  K>ff  the  knight 
should  resume  the  charge  of  them.  There  was  one  letter  which 
he  would  not  willingly  give  up, — the  contents  of  which  he  dread 
ed,  yet  desired  to  peruse. 

"It  is  he — it  is  Philip!"  murmured  the  boy,  recovering,  ami 
relieved  of  the  apprehensions  which  had  troubled  him  for  tin- 
safety  of  the  knight.  ''It  is  Philip  !"  and  he  hastily  undid  the 
fastenings  of  the  entrance.  The  horseman  threw  himself  on"  the 
saddle  at  this  moment,  and  hastily  pushed  his  wav  into  the 
cottage. 

"Senor!"said  the  page,  somewhat  taken  by  surprise  at  the 
manner  and  hurried  movement,  of  the  knight,  so  unlike  that  of 
Vasconselos.  "Sefior  Philip!"  he  said,  timidly  and  inquiringly. 

"Not  he,  my  good  lad,  but  one  quite  as  good.  I  fancy  !"  an 
swered  the  stranger,  grasping  the  boy's  wrist  and  dragging  him 
towards  the  light.  In  the  next  moment,  Juan  identified  the  per 
son  of  the  intruder.  To  recoil  was  an  involuntary  act,  as  he 
exclaimed — 

"  Don  Balthazar  !" 

"  Ay,  methinks,  my  good  boy,  I  should  be  as  well  known  to 
thee  by  this  time  as  the  cavalier  whom  thou  servest.  But  why 
dost  thou  recoil  1  Dost  thou  fear  mo  ?" 

"  No,  Sefior,  but 

It  was  with  very  great  effort  that  the  boy  was  enabled  to  say 
these  latter  words,  which  he  did  with  husky  and  tremulous  ac 
cents,  the  sounds  dying  away  in  his  throat. 

"  Ay,  but  thou  dost.  Yet  thou  shouldst  not.  Henceforth, 
thou  shalt  look  upon  me  as  thy  best  friend  and  protector,  since 
thy  late  master  can  take  care  of  thee  no  longer." 

"  My  late  master!  the  Seftor  Philip — Don  Philip  de  Vasconse 
los  !  Speak,  Sefior,  tell  me  what  hath  happened  to  my  master? 
Where  is  he?  Hath  he  been  wounded — is  he ' 

"  Oh  !  thou  hast  got  thy  voice  of  a  sudden.  \\\\\  I  am  too  slow 
>  eh  to  answer  thy  rapid  inquiries.  No  more  of  thy  late 
master,  boy!  Thou  art  hen<vf.trth  1<>  b»-  /////  pagr.  I  shall  give 
thee  lodgings  as  near  my  own  a>  thou  hast  had  to  th«'--  of  I  >"ii 
Philip.  Thou  shalt  In-  a  sharer  of  my  chamber,  boy.  as  tlioii 
hast  been  of  his!  Ay.  and  1  will  cardM  'her  and  ran-  !<>r  thee 
quite  a>  tenderly.  I  know  thy  gn-at  merit-  as  a  page,  and  I  B66 
thy  virtues  beneath  the  unnatural  Mack  cnatinir  \\hieh  wrap  them 
up  from  all  other  eyes.  His  eyes  never  looked  <>n  thee  more 
tenderly  than  mine  shall  look,  bov  ;  and  thou  shalt  lo-e  nothing 
of  pleasure  and  indulgence  l>y  the  «-.\rhange  of  out 


KROK   OK   .U'AN.  451 

for  another.      What   >a\'st  then  ?     h  the  thing  pleasing  in  thv 

"I  know  not  what  thou    meanest  ;   I  do  not  understand   the.-! 
Only  trll  8  n»r  Philip  —  Don  Philip  — 

i'hilip  —  l)oii  Philip!  nay,  \\hy  not  aaytO  MH-.  a>  thoii 
-.till  a  thousand  times  to  him  —  Philip  —  Philip  — 
r.  dear  Philip  !  U  it  BO,  n  Klack- 

amo.  .:  it  not  thus  tliat  the  dulcet    accents   ru:.  i>: 

'    ami    pie  |      An«l  l»y  what 

name  did  our  Philip  requite  thce.  my  Lr<-nt!e  M 

Sewildeivd.      It  did  sen   his  dis.piii-t  ami 

:.-nm-nt.  that  the  wiiu-  was  t-viiK-ntly  «h»iiii:  warm  work  \\ith 
tin-.  l»raiii  of  tin-  «|urviioiirr  :    luit  .luan    ha<l    a«-«juiivil 

•itiiU-nce    in    army  litr.  and    in    the  "laily  communion  with 

uii-h    now    iviith-ri'il    him    comparativelv   cool   in 

mom,-nt>   of  difficulty,   an-1    under  cmharra-sin^   ivlatioi^.      11,- 

..i\  to  comhat  his  lu-rvous  fcremon  and  appreheo- 

sions.  and  to  an-w.T  calmly. 

"Tli.-  S.-i-or  Baltha/ar  >peaks  very  stran^-  thinirs  to  me,  which 
I  do  not  understand  !" 

..  l.ut    1  will    not    leave  thre  in  Mich  bK-ssed  ignorance,  my 

Know  then  that  thy  old  master  is  disposed  of." 
.in!   slain!     Thou  dost  not   tell    i        8   n    r,  that   :    \   jna>- 
—  " 

I   not    exactly  <|iiict   yet.  unites  indeed,  the  red  men 
liiout  him  with  their  >t«me  hatehets  and  macanaf,  —  or 
-ome  *!ray  w..!i*.  or   pard,    hath    tollow«-il   a  k«-- 


when-  he  lies  on  the  tield  whei'e  the  Adelantado   hath  hut  latelv 

"SeflOT,  for  the  love  of  the  II.  .!y  Virni?!.  tell  me  truly  of  my 

'"      And  ti  ;;;t.  now  —  no  measure,  in   the 

jrnest  pleadinus  of  that  ••  T,-ll  in,,  \shat 

hath     happed  —  how    hr     hath    l»«-rn    eircun.  .  if    Mill     he 

11  -  '.   ha!    Th  ;.eak  out  now,  in  thy  natural  vol. 

.  Thou  \,  imoor  policv  !   Well  ! 

Thou    art    in    growing   ron.lition   to  h»-ar  the  truth.     Tbou  shall 
hear.      Thy  lord,  :.  hath  paid  thu 

juMial';  ,  d  from  kniirhtho,  .d, 

stript  -  ;  :     and    armor,  his    vj-.;n-N   IL-WII    from    hi-  h. 

neck  hall,  red  to  a  tree,  and  U-ateti  with  Mows  nf  the  e\eenii.'!i 
«r.  he    is    1,-ft    to    ti.  ri   and   the  hatchet  of  the 

Apalaohi 

ujesu  !    hav-j  mr;  •  done  th! 


452  VASCONSELOS. 

"Nay,  but  a  little  towards  it.  1  Imt  sped  the  pi-ogres*  and 
nodded  to  the  judgment,  and  smiled  on  the  execution.  I  put  the 
arrow  on  the  string  and  found  the  mark.  Twas  DeSnto  that 
sped  it  from  the  bow !" 

The  boy  clasped  his  hands  wildly  together.    The  knight  begah 
to  sing  a  vulgar  ballad  tlien  current    in    the    aniiv.     th.  : 
something  very  fearful  in    the    strong  glance  which  the  p.-. 
upon  the  face  of  the  singer,  whose  every  look  and  tone  betrayed 
the  full  consciousness  of  his  triumph,    "lie  stooped,  while.  s'ing- 
ing,  and  threw  fresh  brands  upon  the  fire,    .hian  suddenly  darted 
away  as  if  to  pass  him;  but    the   knight  was    not   unobservant, 
caught  him  by  the  arm,  as    he  went    forward,  and    whirled    him 
baek  to  the  corner  of  the  chamber  beyond  him. 

';No  !  no!  thou  dost  not  cease  to  be  page,  bey,  in  the  h>«  of 
one  master!  One  but  makes  way  for  another  ;  and  1  am  instead 
of  thy  Philip;  with  all  his  rights  and  privileges,  mv  sweet  Moor. 
But  thou  shalt  lose  none  of  thine  in  becoming  page  to  me.  Oh  ! 
no!  thou  shalt  share  my  lodge,  my  couch,  an  thou  wilt,  for  my 
taste  revolts  not  at  thy  du-ky  visage,  when  the  features  an-  so 
fine,  and  the  good  faith  of  the  owner  so  perfect.  Thou  art  mine, 
now,  my  boy  !" 

"Scnor!  I  must  go  and  seek  Don  Philip  !"  was  the  calmly 
expressed  resolution  of  the  boy. 

"Thou  wouldst  go  in  vain.  Thou  wouldst  find  his  bones  only. 
lie  hath  given  rare  picking  to  the  panther." 

"Sefior,  1  must  go!" 

"  Stay  where  thou  art !" 

"  If  thou  hast  compassion  in  thy  soul " 

"  Pshaw!      I  know  not  such  folly." 

M  A-  a  knight,  thou  know'st  it  is  my  duty  to  seek  mv  lord.'' 

"Not  when  he  is  dMmnoied.  boy!  Henceforth,]  am  thy 
knight,  1  tell  thee!  Thy  master — in  whose  hands  thy  life  Lies, 
even  as  an  egg.  which  1  can  crush  to  atom*  with  a  will  !  What  ! 
thou  pretendest  that  thou  know 'st  me  not!  Thou  wouNKt  not 
admit  to  thyself  that  I  know  thee  !  l)<>es  thy  imposture  tickle 
thee  so  much,  that  thou  art  rex,>!ute  n<>!  to  BC6  and  belu-\. 

The  page,  indeed,  had  seen  but,  too  well  !  Vet  he  was  reso 
lute.  a>  Don  Balthazar  had  -aid.  hut  to  see!  It  was  still  possible 
be  persuaded  himself — that  his  prr>e«-ntor  spoke  fr«>m  his 
drunkenness.  rather  than  his  knowledge  ; — and  that  his  secret, — 
for  he  had  one — was  still  unsuspected,  or.  at  lea-t,  unknown 
He  an-wered  aeemdin^ly,  willi  ta  much  calmness  of  temper  as  he 
could  command. 

"Sefior,  I  know  not  what  thou  mean's!  or  intend'st  ;   but    thou 


TLIL    MASK    TURN    OFF.  463 

surely  canst  not  design  to  ki ••  -p  me  from  the  good  knight,  who  h;ith 
been  my  kind  friend  and  benefactor,— my  preserver  frequently, 
— in  this  weary  march  through  the  country  of  the  Apalaehian  ? 
You  tell  me  that  he  is  gone  from  me  and  lost  to  mi — you  tell 
me  that  he  hath  undergone  a  cruel  judgment,  for,  I  know  not 
what  otVcnce  ; — but  you  tell  me  that  he  still  live-!  I.,-:  me,  a< 
iu  dutv  bound,  go  t«»  the  service  of  the  good  knight.  Don  Philip, 
and  Mirror  him.  if  1  may.  and  wait  on  him  as  1  should  !  I  en 
treat  this  of  thy  nobleness  ami  mercy,  as  a  knight  thy. self,  who 
well  knowest  what  the  dutiful  page  oweth  to  the  cavalier  he- 
MTT< 

The  eyes  of  Don  Baltha/ar  answered  the  speaker  with  a  wicked 

"ThU  passeth  belief!"  IK-  exclaimed.  "Well,  it  is  a  sort  of 
virtue  to  hold  out  denial  to  the  last  ;  though,  \\heii  the  mask  is 
torn  from  the  face,  it  i>  but  a  st upid  sort  of  virtue  to  do  so  ! 
And  thon.  t«»o,  who  knowest  mi'  so  well, — thoii.  (  )',i\  ia  de  Alvaru 

to  dream   that   1   should   not    know  Ih-c  through   any  di-gnise 
What  a  fooli>h  child  thou  hast  hem.  and  art  !      Hut    I    knew  thee 
from  the  fir>t  day  that  we  landed!      1  watch- d  thee  and  thy  para 
mour   in   all    thy  progress  !     Thou    hast    slept  with   him  beneath 
the  same  tree  ;   in  the  same  shady  thieket  ;   under  the  same  t. 
in    the    -ame  hovel    of  the   red    man;  and    the  same  considerate 
handmaiden,  the    night,  hath    drawn    tin-   curtains  gently,  to  e.  .n- 
eeal    the    l«.vin(r   embraces    nf  the    i.ra!iant    I  )on  and    his  Moorish 

••  K'Mil-mouthed.  as  false  !  It  is  untrue!  We  have  slept  to- 
L'ether  in  a  thousand  places,  and  the  good  knight  hath  watched  and 
>helt«'ivd  m,.  as  a  noble  gentleman,  but  he  hath  nc\er  done  me 
wronir.  Kvi-n  now  he  knows  me — wherever  he  be.  ami  whatever 
be  his  fate, — only  as  the  boy  that  I  appear  to  other  eves!  Hut 
I  hope  not  to  teach  the  truth  of  this  to  a  soul  -o  incapable  of  vir 
tue  as  is  thine!  It  is  enough  that  it  is  known  to  me.  and  to 

the   blessed   ail'jels,  who  have   watch. -d   11^  from  abo\ 

Don  lialtha/ar  pa-^-d  to  the  door,  and  finally  fastened  it 
within.  He  approached  the  damsel. 

••  It  matter*  little.  Olivia,  whether  lie  knew  thee  a<  boy  or  wo 
man.  He  \\ill  know  thee  no  more.  Thou  art  henceforth  mine. 
Th"ii  Mialt  appear  in  the  army  a-  n.  .  ami, — child.—  th«n 

shall  sleep  in  my  tent,  and  under  the  tree  with  me;  and  the  nijjht 
shall    vicld    us    the    same   friendly  veil  \\  hich  she  granted  to 
and  thy  cavalier.      It  \sa-  no  fault  of  the  handmaid.  I  warrant,  if 
the    kniglil    made   no    «!i  OOVery  of  \:  '      Hut    I  am    - 

than  he  ;   and  my  kin>\>.  'er  profit  u-  both.      Nor 


464  VASCOJS'SKLOS. 

need  thou  put  on  the  airs  of  thy  Biseayan  mother  with  me  now! 
We  have  no  such  restraints  here,  as  restrained  our  raptures  and 
made  us  fearful  in  Havana.  Here,  there  is  something  more  than 
freedom  !  Thou  know'st  the  license  of  the  army.  Thou  hast 
seen  that  it  could  not  save  a  princess  of  the  people.  Sup;- 
said  to  the  soldiers,  This  blackamoor  page  is  the  girl  whom 
Philip  de  Vasconselos  entertained  par  amour — and  what  will  <'<>! 
low  7  I  tell  thee,  girl,  in  very  love  of  thee,  they  will  tear  one 
another  to  pieces,  and  tear  thy  delicate  limbs  to  pieces  also  !  A  r! 
thou  wise  to  see  this,  and  to  understand  how  much  better  it  will 
be,  still  to  keep  thy  secret,  and  to  serve  me  as  a  page,  even  as 
thou  hast  served  this  knight  of  Portugal  ?" 

For  a  time,  a  strong  despair  sate  in  the  eyes  of  Olivia.  But 
she  gathered  strength  and  comparative  composure,  while  he 
was  speaking,  and  when  he  was  done,  she  said  with  closed  lips 
and  teeth, — 

"  I  will  perish  first !" 

"  Nay,  nay,  thou  shalt  not  perish!  I  have  done  too  much  to 
secure  thee  in  my  keeping  to  lose  thee  now;  when  I  have  at  last 
securely  won  thee.  I  have  pursued  this  knight  of  Portugal,  until 
I  destroyed  him,  because  he  knew  the  secret  of  thy  shame  and 
my  dishonor  !  He  is  no  longer  a  danger  to  either  of  us. — And 
thou  art  won !  We  are  here,  alone — in  the  deep  midnight.-— 
with  no  eye  to  see,  no  hand  to  rescui-  thee  from  my  iirasp. — and, 
with  the  treasure  thus  won, — arid  the  precious  beauty  thus  in  my 
embrace, — shall  I  now  recoil  from  my  possessions  ? — shall  I 
withdraw  my  claim,  and  abandon  the  very  bliss  for  which  I  have 
toiled  in  sueh  secret  ways,  and  perilled  so  many  open  da; 
No,  my  Olivia,  thou  art  now  mine,  more  certainly  than  ever.  It 
needs  now  no  subtle  opiate  to  subdue  thy  senses.  It  needs  now 
no  future  watchful  anxiety,  to  watch  the  paths,  ami  dread  ever 
more  the  danger  and  detection  !  Here,  we  have  perfect  freedom. 
Life  means  privilege,  to  take  and  keep!  We  have  no  laws  but 
such  as  justify  the  passions ;  and  just  now,  th«-  passions  are  the 
only  laws  that  require  to  be  obeyed.  Thou  art  mine,  -jirl.— 
mine,  Olivia, — and  I  seize  thee  with  a  rapture,  which,  sweet  as 
thy  embrace  hath  been  of  yore,  promises  now  a  blo-ini:  as  li.r 
beyond  the  past,  as  the  joys  of  heaven  are  claimed  to  be  bey«»ud 
t.h. .-.-  ..f  earth!  Wilt  thou  be  mine,  and  submit  to  he  my  wil 
ling  page, as  thou  hast  been, par  am«nr.  \\\  pageof  Vasoonselos?" 

'•Touch  me  not,  Seflor!" — she  <aid  M  he  approaehed  her. 
"Touch  me  not!" 

"Ay,  but  I  will  touch  thee,  and  take  thee,  and  wind  thee  iu 
my  embrace,  I  tell  thee  ! " 


SHARP    AND    SUDDKN.  466 

"Touch  nit   not!"  as  he  continued  to  approach. 

"Thou  art  mine,  I  tell  thee  !"  and  he  laid  on,-   hand  upon  her 
shoulder,  :md  tON  wi-le    the  ft  kol    of  .•-•aupil, 

or  cotton  armor,  which  slie  wore,  until   the  white  bo>.  -m  •  • 
from  its  bonds,  and  grew  revealed  t->  th  sityr  !      At 

ttt,  tiie  three    letters  of  VftBOOOae] 

;i  upon  the  ground. 

M  Ha!"  said    he,  stooping  to  lift  them,  while   he  still  kept  one 
hand  upon  her  shoulder "  Ha  !      What    loTO  chroniei.-s   have 

He  was  about  to  gather  them  up,  when,  with  brok 

»he   .Tied 

-It  must  l>e  M>]     It  hath  been  decreed  !     It   is  a  command! 
It  is  from  Uod  himself!     I  must  do  it!     Th- 
knew  it  would   come  to   this  at   last.      I  felt   sure  that  I  should 
tO  do  it  !" 

And  while  speaking  thus,  as  if  to  her.-eif.  >he  drew  th-- 
«»f  tin-  pa^e,  in  the  knight  upon   th.-  neck,  even 

•:-ing.       Had    she    been    taught    by    anatoi-iii-al    - 
where  plant  the    blow  for    immediate   death,   her   hand 

could  not  have  been  more  etleetually  guided  than  by  its  sudden 
instinct.  She  smote  but  onee,  and  while  a  hu>ky  and  gurgling 
sound  issued,  with  a  volume  of  blood.  fn>m  the  throat  of  the  vie 
tim.  he  fell  forward  upon  the  earth,  and  lay  motionless  at  hei 

hastily  gatlu-red    up    the    letters  which  his  hai 

only  touched  -they  were  already  spotted  with  his  blood, —thrust 
them  onee  more  into  her  buxun.  Opened  the  door,  and  darted 
from  the  eabin  !  In  a  few  momm;>  BUM  is  mounted 

upon  her  own  steed  and  Hying — flying  far  and  ta^t.  Into 
of  th*  -he    murmured  to  i. 

gasping  and  breathing  heavily — "  I  knew  it  mn>t  be  so!  — I  felt 
that  i'  had  to  be  done!  It  had  to  be  done  !  it  had  to  lie  done.1 
Holy  Vjj-gin  !  It  had  to  be  done,  and  by  my  hands !" 


CHAPTER    XL11. 

"  Now  shall  we  pluck  liiru  from  hi*  wu-lched  plight, 

And  make  misfortune  favor."  Ou>  PUT 

THE  army  of  De  Soto  marched  down  the  west  side  of  the 
Coosa,  and  were  soon  buried  deeply  in  the  virgin  wildernesses 
of  Alabama.  They  gave  but  few  thoughts  to  the  noble  victim 
whom  they  had  dishonored  and  left  to  peri.-h  in  the  ravening 
solitudes  of  the  forest.  To  him,  the  short  remnant  of  th"  day 

!  in  such  a  dreariness  as  may  better  be  imagined  than  de- 
scribed.  Fettered  rigidly  to  the  tree,  at  the  foot  of  which  he  was 
barely  sutl'ered  to  repose  in  a  hall-crouching  position,  Yasconsclos 
was  scarcely  conscious  of  the  hours  as  they  glided  from  daylight 
into  darkness.  A  savage  gloom  covered  up  his  soul,  and  shut 
out  the  ordinary  transitions  and  aspects  of  external  life  from  his 
vision.  In  the  ease  of  one  so  noble  of  soul,  so  proud  of  spirit,  so 
sensitive  to  shame  and  honor,  we  may  fancy  how  terribly  intense 
irere  the  horrors  of  such  a  doom  as  that  which  he  had  been  made 
to  endure.  We  may  equally  understand  how  regardless  he  had 
become  in  respect  to  the  future,  from  his  endurance  of  the  past. 
Th«-  day  pa-^ed  blankly,  before  his  eyes;  the  stars  came  out, 
looking  down  upon  him  wiih  sad  aspects  through  the  overhang 
ing  boughs  of  the  forest  trees,  with  like  blankiie-s  of  expression. 
Hf  herdi-d  not.  he  did  not  behold  the  tender  brightness  in  their 
looks.  He  lay  crouching,  a  grim  savage,  denied  the  only  praver 
which  his  soul  could  possibly  put  up  in  that  dreary  trial,  that  of 
a  manly  death,  through  a  fierce  and  terrible  struggle  with  his 
enemies. 

And  so,  hour  after  hour,  in  a  hopeless  craving  for  freedom  of 
limb,  and  the  exercise  of  a  mighty  muscle  in  the  deadly  strife! 
and  the  hopeless  craving  became  at  length  debility.  Mental  and 

al  exhaustion  began  to  supervene.  lie  became  conscious 
of  aspects  and  influences  which  taught  to  hi--  waning  faculties  the 
fear  of  approaching  madne--.  Be  WM  OOnQQIOtU  of  an  incerti 
tude  of  thought  and  sen-e,  which  wa  ;  the  mo:,t  oppn-s-ive  of  all 
the  painful  feelings  which  he  now  endured.  He  fell  that  his 
_-  him.  i>r  becoming  BO  diseasedly  acute  as  lu 
confound  hi  •  ;.  He  fe!.  that  he  could  no  longer  bring 

tun 


THE    vri/lTKK.  457 

to  bear  upon  his  facultiei  th«-  -lling  will  and  a 

sober  mind.      Strung-  hn-  r««  flashing 

•oanda,  and  mi  rouses,  \\«-n,- 

i  it  \\viv.  tin-  tuiirhrf 

>.f  tlaiiu-  that    wnv    put  out  'lie    rials  «>!'    In* 

.  thrilling  tin-in    with    riirioiisU   painfn 
at  alu-niuU'lv.      It  was  not  the  Stan  tliat  In-  saw.  t>ir 
tnrs  that  swept  down  to  him  fr<>m  al»o\v.  \\hrrlm_:  al-out  liiiu  in 
I    pausing  in  U  look    «l«»\vu  into   liis  own. 

In   th,'  iui'l-t    «»r  ih'--  .    wlii.-h    wrrr    t'h<>sr    of   the    mind 

than    th»-    eye,    lii-     j.h\->i.-ai     - 

>ci.»iis  of  tho  flight  ot'  sonic  Lri\'at   l.inl   who-,-  \\-\\  .inl.  a- 

ihi-v  wh.-«  1«--1   at.Dut    him  in  slow  <:yration<.  Lrra«lna!ly  (•••a-inL'.  as 
the  heavy  frame  settled  down  upon  tin-  Lni^li  of  the  tre* 

ovrr    him,  \\ln-inv    h«-    li«-:ii ••!  tin-  ^n-at   wings  flapping, 
MIOII  fn!l..wrd  ! •  \   a  ('i.  ivii>-   -*T(  am.  \\  i. 

IO8  <>f  r.\u!!ati«n — that    "f  tho  vuStnn-  alrra-ly  in 
\     .  with  a  natural    instinct,  tin-  knight 
ihivw  up  I  :  his  hiiml  frd» 

•rnn'raiit.      'li<  a    mo- 

im-n'tai-v  Cl  .  ilrrtvd  HJHIII  liu- 

(,,,,,,- — not   luiiii  ID  l-i-  delayed — when  th«-  \\ 
upon  his  lii-art.  and  whrii  In-  >ln»iil«l  i:« 

linst    his   i.!<',,d-s,Tkinir    -»»-:ik.      l»nt  tin-  li1  . 
th.niL'h'  !o  r.M-.,i|t'ih-    liim  to  a   j»n»l»al>iliiy.  If 

terrible,  \vhi<-h  i-»-d   him   release -from  the   rnortifying 

moi-al    «li»iin  \\hu-h    his  lit'. 

':.  iiiu-.  «lisi  1  humiliation  of  hu  situation. 

WDeaa,  th-Mi^h  Init  tor  a 

;it.  i;i  -u«-h  a  .-onditi..n  as  that  in  \vhi<-h  In-  lay.  was   it-i-lf  a 
•••rnitv  of  lortun-.      It  \\  !>«•  . ndn; 

:    \\ith'  iip-rtal    COnadoUfl 

t«>  tin-  ivli-.-f  of  a  misiTN    \\hiclihun  _thf«'in,d   it    im|"i>-i- 

,;n.      '1'h  iiiin.  an.l  mnrmuri'  :iiin--. 

Philip   d--   Vaa  onseloa  wii  k  '1    in    u"'1'' 

,t    l.ird   di-.ppi-.l    h<  -i'h-    hin: 

l)oiinh.  and  walk*-.!  a!.«.ut  him.  an«l  -t'-.d  \\ :  luitting 

and  nncl'-iii'_r  vrings  ..':-    •  2  him  into 

slum!"  '•    lifted    1, 

n  into  t!  in   tin- 

cat-likr    '  to    I  if 

h.-aid  up.-:.  Minf  form,  beautifulh 

ivntier. 
20 


158  VASCOXSELOS. 

And  the  wild  .-avage  of  the  wood-. — the  must  savage, 
in  all  the  forests  <>{'  America,  the   panther,  encircled  the  sleeping 
man;  and  he  stooped  his  nose  to  the  unconscious  car*;  and  then-. 
was  a  faint  murmur  of  speech  troin  the  lip-  of  tin-  kn'mht  ;  and 
biiee   more  the    panther  retired    into    his   thicket,  and    th< 
vulture  again  dropped  from  the  tree-top  to  the  ground.    And  tic. 

•circled  the  sleeper.  And  once  more  he  spread  hi- 
wings  above  his  head,  and  he  fanned  slowly  the  drowsy  air  about 
him  :  then  he  sounded  a  fierce  wild  nok — -a  great  shriek  through 
the  forest — and  the  Sleeper  stirred  -lightly  with  a  lifted  arm; 
and  the  vulture  resumed  the  fanning  with'his  wings.  Hut  SOOD 
another  shriek  from  the  depth*  of  the  night  was  heard  in  an>\\er 
to  the  signal  of  the  watchful  l.ird  :  and  another  fallowed  afier  it. 
And  ere  many  moments  there  wa*  a  family  group  of  the  raven 
ous  birds  about  their  victim,  and  each  spread  forth  hi-  \\  in-:-. 
beating  s"lowly  the  drowsy  atmosphere,  and  drawing  nigher  mo 
mently  until  they  stood  about  the  head  and  breast  of  the  uncon 
scious  knight,  like  so  many  hooded  priests  about  the  corse  of 
a  brother.  And  still  it  seemed  ns  if  the  knight  were  not  uncon 
scious,  though  unable.  A  murmur  broke  from  his  lips,  and  e\vr 
and  anon  his  arm  was  thrown  up  spasmodically,  hut  only  to  till! 
supine  upon  the  earth  beside  him. 

Again  was  the  child-like  cry  heard  in  the  forest,  and  the  -ava'_re 
panther  once  more  issued  from  its  depth*,  stealthily  as  the  eat. 
passing  along  timorously  beside  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  pur 
suing  a  circling  course  towards  his  victim  ;  and  tin-  time  he  came 
not  alone.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  more  .-avage  mate,  fol 
lowed  by  her  cub-,  and  they  drew  near,  whining  a-  they  did  so, 
like  kittens  that  are  beekolled  (o  their  food.  The  obscene  birds 
angrily  (lapped  their  wings  and  shrieked  at  their  approach;  but 
still  retreated,  and  once  more  lifted  themselves  upon  slow 
pinions  to  the  trees  above,  where  they  looked  down,  watching 
the  common  prey,  and  waiting  for  their  moment  with  impa 
tience. 

Now,  could   we  see  clearly   the   condition   of  the   exhausted 
cavalier,  we  should  behold  him  covered  with  a  cold  and  clammv 
sweat,  the  proof  that   there  was  still   a    lurking  conscious, 
faculty  of  life,  which,  though  lacking  every  essential  capacity  for 
struggle    and  defence,  was  yet    not  wanting    in   the   acute-t    -en-i- 
bilities  of  horror.      Again  was   there  a  feeble  murmur  of  -perch 
from  his  pallid  lips,  and  again  were  hi- nerveless  arms  stirred,  but 
*.his  time  unlifted.  as  if  striving  to  defy  or  to  drive  away  the  as-ail 
ant. 

He  was  not  thus  to  be   expelled        Heedless    of  the    murmur, 


469 

needless  of  il,<  .rm-.  tin-  Ravage  'la.u.  crying  to  her  cubs, 

plant. -.1    h-T   stealthy  foot  firmly  upon  tin-   ho-,,m    "f  the  victim. 
The  male  panther,  meanwhile,  stoi.d  above  his  head,  watchful  of 
v  movem  t«>  n-inl  \\ith  fierce  teeth  and  talons 

at  the  tirst  >how>  of  life  or  struggle.     And  the  cold  sweat  bivak- 
in  gn  -  troiu  brow  an«l  bn.-om  of  tin-  knight,  ami  his  . 

open,  and  he  shouts— or  strives  !••  shout,  hut    lm\v  feebly  ! — and 
hi-  arm  strikes   out  wildly,   hut  with   the   most  child-like   feeble- 
i  MM;   and  on  the  instant  the  grim    Barage  wh.i   -tai;d-   above   his 
pa  terrihly  UJHUI  his  l.iva-t.      And  the  t-yes  of  the  kni^hl 
:.o\v    widely    oj.eii,    and    he    sees    and    feels,     hut     lie    lias    n<» 
Btrength,  DO  hope !      He    inurmurs  a   prayer  to  Heaven,  and  his 
e\es  close  upon  the  rest !      lie  resigns  himself  to  the  fate  \\hirh 
lie  ean  no  longer  oppose,  aiul   from  whieli   he    wet   no    me;i!iv  ,,f 
ipe.     Not  that  he  de-ires  BdOape  from  death.     It  is  tlu-  animal 
instinet  only  that  would  struggle  now,  and   lor  this  the  animal  is 
ineapahle.   '  It  is  the  manner  Of  the  death    only  from  whieli    the 
mind    revi.hs  and   the  mind    rapidly  lapses   into  tranee.      In   his 
latent  (•<•'  hi-ar<  the  -harp,  shrill  cry  of  the  gigantic 

Hinl  -  .  .-t,  upon  his  hrea-t. 

He    little    dreams   that    the  cry  is  one  of  annoyance  and  f.  ar. 
and   not   of  triumph.     Suddenly  the   vulture-    >eivam  i' 
tree,  and    the    hearts  cry  angrily  heiieath    it.      They  are   startled 

from  their  piw.    IV^woods  gleam  with  sudden  lights,  that  ila»h 

('tVeii-ively  in   the   eyes  of  the    midnight    prowlers  of  the  jungle. 
The  great  natural  alleys  of  the  i  no  with  cheerful  voi 

The  light-  dart  from  side  to  side;  th.ey  are  torehes  h«irn«-  !.y 
troops  of  the  red  men  that  gather  at  the  -ummon-  of  a  group 
that  now  approach,  armed  with  flaming  hrands  al-o.  toward-  the 
t  where  the  IVrtugue-e  '-avali.-r  lies  at  length  uncoiiM-iou-.. 
The  hea-ts  «rrowl  and  whine,  liereely  glaring  upon  the  haek\\ard 
path,' as  tliey  retire  from  U-fore  the  gleaming  ton  I..  I,  1 '.  :./in» 
hrands  are  flung  at  them  hy  the  red  men.  to  hurry  them  in  ll 
and  they  slink  away  from  the  \ietim  whom  they  wiv  ju-t  ah«»ut 
to  n-nd.  The  vultures  in  turn  lift  their  van- and  sail  Onto  higher 
.  Tiirr.-  ihe\  -it.  hroiiding  sullenly  t»n  \\  hat 
the ,  \\i;h  thei:  .ppointcd 

•.    lurk   anm'ily  \\\«']\  [\\>  the   dark    jungle   in 

\\hi-h  tli.-y  make    th,-ir  ah-.d-'.      They  -till  lurk,  watchful,  h.-; 
of  their  victim;  and  \\«>e  t.>  the  Indian,  particularly   if  a  \\«-m;m. 

riic  wander  too  nigh  the  spot  where  he  orov 

neglect.-  to  wave  iiefon-  the   path  the  lirand  «>f  t:ft-  \\hii-li  oti' 
In 'place  of  obscene  hird  ai   I  ',  ^r-ups  of  the  rrj 


460 

men  surround  tin-  pro-Irate  knight.  In  the  midst,  In-nt  over 
him  with  solicitous  care  and  pa»ii»natr  atKvtion.  kn<vl>  a  young 
and  beautiful  woman  of  the  dusky  raee.  II«-i-  cares  rrvivc  liim. 
He  opens  his  eyes  to  see,  l>y  the  light  of  tho  ItlazUig  torches  ih«- 
fond  and  sweet  features  of  Gorilla,  the  1'rim-i^s  of  ('afach'Kjui. 

-lie  lives!  His  eyes  open  to  Coyalla  !  Oh  !  IMiilip,  tliou 
shall  be  mine  now,  and  forever,  and  a  gi  eat  ehief  among  my 
pi-nple  !  " 

He  swoons  again,  but  he  is  in  fond  and  failhful  keeping. 


CH  A  I'T  K  K    X  LI  II. 

•'  Faithful,  *h«>  fli«-»,  m  smrrh  of  lum  she  !<>•    • 
But  droops  at  last !     Ah  !  hup.i  •»•*,  'h;u  tin;  aoul 
Fii.il*  no  sufficient  sm  c<-r  troni  tlir-  tr 
T'  achieve  the  wondrous  virtue-  tli:u  it  willi  1" 

OLD  PI_»T. 

OLIVIA  DE  ALVARO — or,  as  we  shall  couth  her  it. 

her  a— unied  diameter  ami  >e\ — .luan.  tin-  1'age  of  \ 

\vhirh  avengid  tin-  wrongs  of  herself  and 

it  lea-t.  aii'l  th.'  \\.-r-t  d'  t!n-ir  viu-iuii^;    fledvponb^i 
ti«T\   stt-rd,  with   hI«Mnl    iii-'H-  1'u-rv  Bnd  ^i!«l.  lioiin«ii!;Lr    niadly  if. 
AH  IM.MUM.      Slu-  dr. 'Vrthr  ruwrl  i:it»»  tin-  i-airi-r  </<  ^//'/«r,  Uh- 
witting  \\liat   >ln-  tliil  or  win-re   >lie   tlew.      F«M-  a   time.  li.  r   pn>- 
•lie  work  nf  niadih--.     <  .  plainly,  !i«TM-lf  no 

single  iiK.nienl  of  tlnnight.      Ski-  oln-ye«l  an  impulse — an  in-tine(. 
She  made  no  nmiii'-iif-  pause,  >he  a-krd  In  •  in^le  (jiies- 

tion.      It  mattered  not  to  her.  in  that  fearful  hour,  will. 
d\vd  deejilv  in  kindred  blood,  ami  thiek  liill«>\\s  «»t'  tl. 

(low  in  upon  her  throlil/mg   brain,  in  what  diree- 
r   what    late   awaited    her.      There    wa*   a    j«.\\er, 
x-emiiiL'lv    bevoiid.  if  not  foreign   to   her  own.  whieh 
forwa:  !\  .      Tin-  pa  —  i.»!i-   held  the  n -in-.      B! 

le.     Tne  horse  new  beneath  her,  yet  it  -if>lu- 

\\Miild  have  llowu    be\ond   him.      His  speed  was   nothing   to   tin- 
wild   and   headlong  flight  of  her   n. 
si-ious  of   his    imn-eineiits       < 'n,   on-  no    matter    \\  1 
goads  him  terribly  forward — and    i 
and    the   thick    flakes   of  f.-am  '.out    \\'><    mouth,  and    the 

irhite  streaks  rise  upon  his  flanks,  and  \et  the  ro\\e!  raki-<  and 
'ear-  hi-  redd<  : 

But  the   instincts  Of  horse    and    rider   ai-«»e.jually  true.      .Iiian 
knew  the  geiu-ral    rOOtefl  of  the   army.      In    '  intries,  tiie 

miiitai  .  ire  few  and  soon  defined.     The  !  read  of  a  eorp> 

of  h..:  •    through   tin 

tible.      The  hor>e  readii\  pathwa\ 

rides,  had  l»  "f  HH' 

rout,,  of   I>      -  :Vom  the  taunt  >  ot'   ])on  15aliha/ar, 

•..—  that  i' 

he  had  been  di-hon,.r.  .1 
DO  more  knowh 


462  VAS.-ONSKLOS. 

should  pursue.  Hi-  had  become  skilled,  from  the  sinuous  prc 
gress  which  lit-  had  made  with  the  army,  lie  had  gradually— 
perhaps  without  his  own  consciousness— acquired  all  those  gene 
ral  laws  of  travel  which  the  wa\  t'aivr  in  the  great  forests  can 
hardly  forbear  to  learn.  But  to  tnese  he  made  no  reference  in 
the  present  progress.  His  lessons  came  to  him  through  his  im 
pulses.  They  served  him  as  instincts.  In  the  ordinary  processes 
of  thought  and  induction,  he  certainly  did  not  once  indulge 
during  the  long,  wild,  but  well-directed  flight,  in  which  we  are  to 
trace  his  eoui  - 

He  dashed  headlong  through  the  village  of  Chiaha,  where  the 
command  of  Don  Baltha/ar  was  still  quartered.  Little  did  his 
cavaliers  dream  of  the  bloody  fate  of  their  superior.  The  fu- 
git>ve  was  challenged  by  the  sentry  as  he  entered  one  of  the 
sylvan  avenues,  and  again  challenged  as  he  hurried  through  the 
opposite  end  into  the  wilderness  again.  He  heard  not  the  de 
mand —  he  made  no  answer  to  the  summons,  and  the  matchlock 
was  emptied  at  him  as  he  flew,  and  he  knew  not  th;<t  he  had 
escaped  any  danger.  The  great  thickets  once  more  receive  him 
with  such  shelter  as  they  afford.  The  dim  lights  of  heaven  suf 
fice  fur  the  steed,  but  he  sees  nothing,  nor  is  he  conscious  of 
any  lack  of  light.  If  he  dues  nut  reason,  he  is  vet  nut  unen 
lightened  by  aspects  that  sufficiently  fill  his  mind.  Even  as  he 
speeds,  he  sees,  still  receding  as  he  approaches,  yet  still  con- 
spicuously  distinct  before  his  eyes,  the  great  encampment  uf  De 
Soto — the  amphitheatre  of  trees  and  tents,  and  grouped  soldiers 
surrounding  and  grim  warriors  presiding  in  judgment,  and  a  cruel 
eZ6Clttioner  with  blood v  axe  prominent  overall,  and  in  the  midst 
a  noble  form,  about  to  sink  ! — and  he  cries  hoarsely  as  he  spurs 
the  steed — hoarsely  and  feebly, — his  voice  subsiding  to  a  whis 
per — 

"  But  one  moment,  Philip — but  one  moment — and  1  am  with 
thee.  With  thee,  Philip!  withthee!  To  die  with  thee,  Philip— 
to  die  for  thee  !  <  )ne  moment,  Philip — one  moment — one  !-% 

And  at  each  period^of  pause, — when  the  steed  stopped  to  pant: 
— or,  with  nose  to  the  ground,  t<>  -cent,  or  to  feel,  his  way—  such 
would  be  the  apostrophe.  Then  the  dark  or  blood  v  a>peets  \\oiild 
seem  to  rise  more  con-picuoiisly  and  urgently  before  the  ga/e  of 
the.  fugitive — the  arrested  motion  of  the  Meed  making  him  feel 
that  the  delay  was  dangerous — that  tin-  event  was  in  progr 
which  he  alone  could  arn-t  that  not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost  ! 
and  this  \\as  all  his  thought!  Then  it  was  that  the  lingering 
bea-st  would  be  nnde  anew  to  tee]  th-  severe  infliction^  of  the 
?owel, — and,  snorting  with  terror  to  plunge  forward  with  hi*  bur 


in  iir.  463 

den—  fortunate'  flight  \\hidi.  for  five 

hour-,  had  .      In    this  Hi^lit    the    rider  had  no 

Miv  d-mger.      'I'll.-  l>ea-f  ha.l  m:mv. 
:mes  he  shyed  from  tin-  track,  \\hile  e\ery  limt>  shook  with 

:i.     Hi-  keen  Boenl  h.-i-l  '-.I'^ht  the  wind  borne  to  hi. 

the  lairs  of  the  \\olf  an.!  panther.      Tl,.  '>j\i\    have   l.r.-u 

apon  his  track;  doubt  . — Uitthai  his  flight  had  l.eei. 

and  fir,  and   that    he   seemed    to    their  •  MTV  on  his  l,ack 

a  wihl  terror,  with  eyes  i.f  madnc-s.  much  more  fearful  than  their 

own.      Of  such  'he  fugitive  never  thought.      IJut.  when 

Bide,  he  irke.i  him  with  spur  or  dagger, — in- 

.;— crying  out  in  shrilU-t  tones-  n,.i    a 

u  not  they  hasten! — ah!    I'hilip,  luit  a 

moment  more!      Hut  a  moment  !" 

And    with    every    word    there    was    rowel    stroke,   or    d 
thrust,  till    the  flanks  and   neck  of  the  Meed  were  clamm\   \\ith 
tlu-  red  liliidd  oozing  forth. 

And  while  the  eyefl  Of  the  ri.ler  -  .t.  <lilatinir.  wild  and 

red.  into   the    inlinit.  'id   vaeaney — tilled   onlv  with  con- 

fll-.-d   and  dreadt'lll  asjM-ets  to  his  g;,/,. — tin-  day  suddenly  opened 

nrtah  "t'  the  world,  and  the  >tee«l  went  forward  uith 

.ontideiiee;   hut  Juan  saw   not  a  whit  more  than  had  heen 

,i-  apparent  to  him  all    the   night.      Nav.  he   saw    1. 

Mid    darkness,  and  the  solitude,  had    l>een   tavoral»!e  t«>  tho 

M  of  such  illusions  as  had  occupied  \\\<  mind,  and  the  jjlan; 

of  day.  and  the  sounds  and  Mghts  of  waking  and  ereepinir  things. 

did  someu  hat  conflict  with  the  mental  pewer  i«.i  create  and  make 

•.vn  individual  impres-ion-. 

It    \\  idtul    ride,  like   that  of  Leonora   and    the    Fiend 

ird  and  tanta-tie  leg.-nd  of  I'.  And.  if  the 

dead  lover  accompanied  not  our  fngitivi-.  then-  were  \  «-t  terrible 

-  that  rode  U-xide.  and   tearful    erie>  followed  on  the.  wind, 

while   ever  and  anon  th-  iia/ar   thrilled  in  the 

cars  of  the    jia-je.  ,-rvini:.  "  l»ack.    you    an-    mine!      Von    a: 

Then     would     the     fugitive    Bel     hi-    teeth    closely    togeth.  ' 

clutch   his    daL'L'er   with  determined   uripe.  and    hi-s   thr«»u«:h   his 
shut  lip> — -  What  !  you  have  not  had  en  :  taste 

.  he    \vould   l.ehold    the    amphitheatre    once 
whereiii   1  1 -"Idicrs  environed  the  nohU 

victim;  nnd   so   seeing,  the    hoy  w..u!d  -ct  on.  with  drivirn' 
tnew.  repeating  his  hoarse  whisper  in  his  throat  the  while 


464  VASCONSKLOS. 

a  moment,  Philip — but  a  moment !  and  I  will  be  with  thee  and 
die  with  thee !" 

The  day  dawned,  and  the  horse  sped  over  a  beaten  track. 
He  was  in  the  very  route  pursued  the  day  before,  when  Don 
Balthazar  returned  triumphant  after  the  degradation  of  his  ene 
my — returned,  as  he  fancied,  to  delights,  and  the  safe  renewal  of 
criminal  but  intoxicating  pleasures,  never  <>nce  dreaming  that 
Fate  stood  with  open  arms  welcoming  him  to  the  bloodiest  em 
brace. 

The  steed  of  our  page  felt  himself  sure  at  every  step.  The 
track  was  readily  apparent.  He  went  forward  more  confidently 
and  more  cheerfully,  but  with  less  rapidity,  for  now  it  was  that 
the  rider  began  to  feel  the  gradual  exhaustion  of  that  strength 
which  had  been  too  severely  taxed  by  such  a  progress.  Tin- 
page  was  no  longer  conscious  of  the  diminished  speed  of  the  ani 
mal.  His  own  growing  feebleness  reconciled  him  to  the  more 
sluggish  pace  of  the  beast.  But  ever  and  anon  he  would  start 
out  of  his  stupor  with  a  sort  of  crv.  and  using  the-  rowel,  would 
expostulate — "Would  you  stop  now,  beast,  when  we  an- nigh 
the  spot?  What,  do  you  not  hear  him  call  to  me'?  You  know  his 
voice.  Hear!  He  says — ah!  what  does  he  say  !  But  I  know, 
1  know.  Wait  but  a  moment,  Sefior, — but  a  moment — but  a 
moment!" 

And  the  bridle  grasp  would  relax, — and  the  form  would  Been 
to  turn  in  the  saddle, — while  the  eyes  would  clove  I'm-  a  while,  to 
open  anew,  only  at  the  sudden  short  stopping  of  the  horse,  to 
graze  along  the  wayside.  Then  would  the  rider  show  a  moment's 
anger,  and  send  him  forward  anew  with  prick  of  dagger,  and  mut 
ter  as  before — the  poor  bea>t  submitting,  with  the  wonted  docil 
ity  of  the  well-trained  war-horse,  pursuing  meekly  the  beat  on 
track  until  he  stood — coming  to  a  full  halt — on  the  very  ground 
where  De  Soto's  encampment  had  been  made. 

Then  the  page  opened  his  eyes,  and  was  about  to  smite  the 
beast  and  goad  him  forward — when  the  rude  scaffolding  which 
the  Adelantado  had  made  his  dais — on  which  had  stood  his 
Chair  of  State,  and  where  he  had  delivered  judgment — became 
suddenly  apparent  to  his  glance.  With  a  sudden  shriek  as  he 
beheld,  the  boy  stretched  out  his  hands  and  plunged  forward,  fall 
ing  heavily  upon  the  ground,  with  a  sad  murmur — 

"It  is  too  late!  too  late!" 

He  swooned  away;  while  the  horse,  stepping  carefully  back 
ward,  wandered  off  in  search  of  water.  Ann,  for  an  hour,  the 
beast  wandered  thus  from  side  to  side.  II«  found  streams  in  which 


Tin  A  CAPTI\  466 

ked    his   thirxt.       He     found   tend<  Bfl   in   the    xhadv 

.  which  h-  ,    And  •! .-  daj  th 

rl'he  animal  now   he^aii  to  In-  a  little  revive,  and' he  \\hini 
companion-hip,  looking   round,  from   side  to  nd< 
to  J»I'|  i  strip  otl'  hlx  furniture,  and   show  that  solicitude 

for  him  to  which  he  had   l.e.n   ace  u-toiiu  d.  and   which   the  beast 

than  his  ma-ter. 

\\  -   whinny  made  its  wax   to   oti  of  his  late 

ri'li-r.     Tlr  tfll   lay   msriisil.K-,  in  tl,. 

:i:ituiv   thus  seeking  reli.-f  tr..m  the  siill'i-rin^  \\hich  it  liad 

ite  trom  the  f 

rain.      Soon,  a  li^ui .  ;  from  the  thicket,  stealtli- 

ik  approaching    the    spot    where   the   bone   had   a-ain    l.ci;iin  to 

of  the   red   men.  a     sul.jcct    of   the 

Cas-i.jue  of  C'hiaha.    He  was  f.,!lo\\ed  l.y  two  others,  One  of  \\hom 
NS'"inan.  ler  of  the   party  made  1. 

the   while   tin  lUtJOD.      To   the 

rr('  Illr"  ^  'ill    an   o!  TOT,      lie   had    l>een 

ftl  first,  toconk.und  him  with  his  rider.      He  had  th 
fectly  conceived  the  idea  of  the  ancienN  oft!  \\hom  we 

<>NVl'     ''  l.talir.         I  >i>;d>UM-d    1,\ 

he  did  not    \  et  divest  ii  f  all  th.-e 

h  really  l.(-!oii<;e.l  to'  his  rid,  r.      II,- fan.-ird  >till  that 
from   hi-  He  did  not  doul.t  that    hi. 

tearful  as  tho.e  ,,t-  the   tLr»-r  or   the   \\olf.      h  re- 
••nliiijlly,  no  >mali  .  ,  j,  t|,,. 

Nshi.-h  K  little  wa-   known,  and   o 
"lllr};  '  v  th<Mi.;ht.      lint  one  red  man  did  apt  : 

innocent  ;  x|i|,,lue«l     _  >( ,  .jiiiet- 

/iii«T.  and    altom-ther    invitiiiL'  :al  do. 

•  •ility  of  his  air  and    I,,  haviour.      Tlu-LTa-p  imnter 

length  fairly  laid  upon  the  bridle  of  the  Meed,  and  !. 

'Jl"'    '  "Ut    with   •  H.     calh-.l  hi- 

'.'.t.  and    they  approach,  d    \\ifh   tremblil  :.      \  I 
1'older   as    hi'    hehehl  'their    fears.      II.  !{, 

K    and    mane   .if  iL 

' 

•'"'loni:  tl"  '  ;   until  made  l.oM 

taiuiliar.  an«l  as  the  animal  OOntinc 

• 
• 

of     Uhil'll     he     i 

i      With     1; 


466  VASCONSKLOS. 

comrades  to  follow  him.  and  his  brother  warrior  leapt  up,  then 
the  squaw  followed,  and  as  the  horse  moved  slowlv  from  side  to 
side,  cropping  the  grass,  and  seemingly  heedless  of  his  burden, 
but  still  walking,  the  simple  savages  dapped  their  hands  and 
yelled  with  delight. 

But  that  yell  awakened  the  destrier  to  new  sensation*.  The 
beast  knew  that  he  was  in  the  power  of  his  enemies.  Hi*  char 
acter  changed  on  the  instant.  His  moods,  his  passions.  were  all 
stirred  with  excitement.  He  threw  head  and  taH  aloft.  He 
shook  out  his  mane  ;  the  blood  of  the  war-horse  was  aroused  as 
with  the  shrill  summons  of  the  elarion.  and  he  dashed  a\\av  at 
headlong  speed,  to  seek  the  spot  where  he  had  left  hi*  master. 
At  the  first  bound  he  shook  himself  free  <>f  tin-  sijuaw.  \\horolled 
away  over  his  haunches,  suffering  no  hurt  but  a  prodigious  fright. 
as  she  settled  down  in  a  heap  upon  the  earth,  hardly  knowing 
whether  she  was  dead  or  alive.  The  Indians  yelled  again  with 
sudden  terror;  and  the  shrill  cry  increased  the  speed  «.f  the  ani 
mal.  Awaj  he  dashed  with  the  headlong  rapiditv  of  a  charge. 
The  foremost  of  the  savages  elungto  his  Lack  like  a  eat.  while  he 
wound  his  hands  more  firmly  within  the  animal's  mane.  The 
other  clung  to  the  body  of  his  comrade.  Then  the  animal  threw 
his  head  down,  and  both  of  them  wint  over  his  neck.  They 
rolled  awa\,  on  opposite  sides,  quite  unhurt,  but  horribly 
alarmed.  The  steed  flew,  as  he  felt  relieved  of  his  burden,  and 
he  was  quickly  out  of  sight. 

The  two  savages  lay  lor  several  minutes  upon  the  earth,  not 
daring  to  look  up  or  speak.  Uut.  as  tin-  sounds  of  the  hole's 
feet  grew  more  distant,  one  of  them  rose  to  a  sitting  posture. 
lie  called  to  the  other  in  under  tones,  it  required  snme  thought 
and  examination  to  be  assured  of  the  fad  that  both  of  them  still 
lived,  and  that  no  bones  were  broken.  One  of  them  went  back 
for  the  squaw.  She.  too.  \\.-i-  unhurt.  Thev  \\eiv  soi>n  brought 
together,  and  a  rapid  consultation  determined  them  to  pursue 
the  monster  who  had  treated  them  with  so  much  indignity. 
IJow*  wen-  bent,  arrows  got  in  readiness,  the  stone  hatchet  was 
sei/ed  in  sinewy  grasp,  and  the  two  warrior*  went  forward — the 
woman  following  at  a  little  distance,  and  trembling  for  the  event, 

It  was  a  matter  of  course  that  the  red  men  should  liisten  in 
stantly  upon  the  fresh  track  of  the  horse,  and  follow  it  \\ith 
unerring  certainty.  Th<-  bea-t.  meanwhile,  had  made  hi*  way 
back  *.o  where  the  page  had  fallen,  and  when  the  pursuers  drew 
nigh  they  found  him  smelling  at  the  hands  of  his  late  rider  and 
pushing  them  with  hi>  nose.  The  boy  was  stirring  slightly. 
Suddenly,  the  horse  r<  winded  the  red  men.  lie 


TII:  nrfc  467 

!  backward,  il  did  BO,  -ei/in^  tli.-ir  moment,  they 

both  darted  upon    the   half-awaking   -luan.   and    had    -.-i/ed    him 
hy  the  arm-    b.-f-Te    he    had    heroine  fully  con-. -ion-.      The  rude 
•   brought  him    bar',..   '  .       !  i  0  -hake 

oil'  hi-  :>ut  liis  M  ;   hi-  arm-  fell    use- 

.  unperformingly,  beside  him  ;  and  In-  showed  hi>  >ubmi-Hon 
\Vliy  -hould  he  Btl  '      What  had  In 

to  live  for?      Why   should    lu-    divad    the   death   which    he   now 
fancied  to  l>e  certain  ? 

'i'lie  red  men  :  theiiisrlves  of   tile    page's    dag^r.  the 

only    weapon    \\hirh    lie    carried.       \\ith    their  .;ehet>. 

waving  in  his  si^hi.  tlu-y  mi'tione<l   him    to   rise.      B}   siuiis  i|j,.\ 
ree,  which  he  did  without  etlort.  hut  they 
Hitlicieiitly  \\ary  not    to  sutler   him    to  mount.      Th. 
was  led  Accordingly,  and  the  l»o\-  j'l'oci-eded  with  hi^  eaj>t< 

uaw  having  joined  them  in  compliance  with  their 

repeated   hall' 

The   de-trier    was   now    docile   enough,  following  his  ma-ter. 
The  page  fc.-l.ly  led    him  on.     l»ut    he    so«m   sank    down    by  the 
way.      Oneofthe    red  men   would    have    brained    him    with    his 
hatchet  ;   but  the  other.  \\ho  was  the  older,  and  the  woman,  inter- 
.      The   latter   soon    perceived    th-  -.\liau-tii-n.    and 

while  OIK-  of  the  men  went  oil'  in   search   of  a    spring  or  rivulet, 

•  1  into  tlie  wood*,  bringing  back  with  her.  B 

littlv  \\hile.  i  small   round  acid  fruit.     The  lat 

ter  she  BOIieeZed   into  the   pagr's  mouth.       The   leaves  -he   |  ! 
upon  his  ton-head.      \Vater  wa-  brought   in   a    leaf  shaped  like  a 
slipper,  of  \\hich    he  drank  freely.      In    a    little  while  he  u 
vi\«d.      When    i  -.-d   siiilieii-ntly.  he   nu'-tioned    them    by 

•  bt  him  ride,  one  of  them    taking   the    bridle    within   his 
hand-.     'Hi  -1    led  to  a  long 

among    the    raptor-*,  whirh    wa-  fuiallv  settled  bv  the 
••f  the  party.  \sh<>  -•!/,  d  the  bridle  with   the    m^-t    heroic 
air  of  in   one    hand,  while  with   the    other,  waving 

i    the    head   of    the     hol-e   \\ith  -lld- 

deii  -tp'ke.  at  the  first  8U3]  .mpt..m.     Juan  mounted  with 

feeblr    h.-art    ainl    limb-,    indifferently,  and  only  r.-igned    to  the 
wi-he-  i,f  hi*  eapt< 

thu-   tlf    four    tra\el',(d    f..r   -i\    Of  «-iLrlit    \\.-arv    hours. 

••am.-    and    went.      Th.-   sun   at    lei, L'th  \\  a-  f-dnt  ly  smiling 

1  <.ver  th-'  fore-t.  at    the   <-lo^in«:  of  hi-   pilgrimage,  \\li.-n 

:ty  eame  in  -ight  of  the  beautiful    river,  th*  if    the 

spot    \\h,  K    !•  an    individual  m   the 

junction  of  the  Kto\\ah  and  n.    ' 


468  VASCOXSKI. 

Here  was  an  encampment  of  f:  en.     Thcv  could  be 

s°en  in  crowds  along  tin-  l>anks  of  the  river,  lint  tin-  eves  of 
Juan  were  fastened  upon  a  group  that  \vas  gathered  beneath  a 
sort  of  canopy  upon  the  hilUidc.  They  .slowly  approached  thi.s 
station.  The  page's  eyes  brightened  as  he  drew  nigh.  Surely, 
it  is  Don  Philip  that  he  -  -I  upon  tin-  ground  in  front  of 

the    canopy,   while    tin-    iv<l     men     wan. In-   about    in    the    back 
ground.      But  the    page  doubts.      Can  it  be  that  the  savage-look 
ing  man  whom  lie  sees, —  woe-stricken,  with  matted  and  dishev 
elled    hair   and    beard, —  is  his    noble    ma>ter — the  accomplUhed 
knight  of  Portugal — the  man  of  grace,  and  stature,  and  beauty  ; 
of  ease  and  sweetness,  and  clear  bright  eye,  and  generous  H 
Can  he  have  so  altered  in  so  short  a  space  ?     Juan  could  scarcely 
believe.     But  he  had  no  conception  of  the   change  which  he  had 
himself  undergone.     With  aery  he  threw  himself  from  th 
at  the  feet  of  the  cavalier — 

"  Oh  !  Seflor !     Oh !  Don  Philip " 

The  knight  looked  up  for  the  first  time  as  he  heard  the  cry. 

"My  poor  boy,  my  poor  Juan,  is  it  thou,  indeed  !  " 

And  he  took  the  boy  suddenly  to  his  embrace.  He  shrunk 
from  the  grasp:  he  trembled  like  a  leaf;  tottered,  and  would 
have  fallen  but  that  the  knight  held  him  up. 

"God  be  praised.  Juan,  that  thou  art  again  with  me!  I  had 
feared  that  1  should  lose  thee  forever,  my  poor  boy;  and  surely, 
Juan,  if  there  be  any  that  I  can  now  love,  it  is  thyself/' 

He  again  grasped  the  page  and  drew  him  to  his  embrace.  The 
head  of  the  boy  sank  upon  his  shoulder.  His  eye  \\as  bright 
with  tears.  The  head  was  relieved.  The  heart  enjoyed  a  strange 
and  sudden  sensation  of  happiness.  At  that  moment  his  ear 
caught  the  sound  of  a  well-known  voice. 

"Philip!"  said,  in  the  tenderest  tones,  the  beautiful  Coralla, 
the  Princess  of  Cofachiqui ;  and  she  laid  her  hand  affectionately 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  knight. 

"  Philip ! " 

The  word  went  like  a  dagger  to  the  heart  of  the  page.  Tl it- 
tenderness  of  tone  in  which  it  was  spoken  filled  her  smil  with 
bitterness.  There  was  an  agony  in  her  Inborn,  as  sudden  and 
extreme  as  the  rapture  which  had  filled  it  but  a  moment  bef.ue, 
and,  with  the  sc.-niiiMi  recovery  of  all  her  strength  and  » 
she  withdrew  herself  from  the  embrace  of  Ya-eonsi'Ios,  who 
gently  released  her. 

"Go  within,  Juan,"  said  ihe  knight,  pointing  him  to  the  rude 
tent  of  bushes  before  \\hich  st 1  the  canopy  of  stained  cotton; 


JKALOPS    TKARS.  469 

•'go  within  !  await    nu>,  for  I  have    much   to  hear  from 

thee." 

With  the  big  trurs  i;:ith«Tiii£  in  his  «-yi-s  like  pn-at  pearls  of 
the  ocean,  the  page  did  as  he  was  commanded,  having,  nv  h«: 
wi-nt,  Ix-licld  Co^ulla  tako  lu-r  j.l.-n-i-  hy  the  >iili-  of  tlu-  knight, 
whiK-  olio  of  IUT  hands  ictted  proudly  o.i  his  shoulder,  and  her 
lari^c  l»ro\vn  eyes  seemed  to  drink  in  rapture  while  gazing  deeply 
into  his. 


CHAPTER  XL1V 

••  Avf.  Say,  what's  thy  name? 
Thou  hast  a  prim  appearance',  anil  thy  race 
Bears  a  command  in  't  ;  though  thy  tackle's  torn 
Thou  show's!  a  nohle  vessel.    What's  thy  name?" 

Coriolaniu. 

MEANWHILE,  the  Spanish  army  pursued  its  progress  into  the 
ri  ih,  wild  provinces  of  the  Alabamous.  Thev  were  now  ap- 
preaching  the  territories  of  the  great  Indian  Cassique.  called  Tus- 
calu/a.  or  the  Black  Warrior, — a  ruler  at  once  remarkable  lor 
the  extent  of  his  sway,  his  haughty  valor,  and  his  gigantic  stature. 
lie  had  heard  of  the  approaching  Spaniards,  of  their  power,  their 
wonderful  anus  and  armor,  their  strange  appearance,  and  the 
mystery  which  seemed  to  envelop  their  origin.  !!<•  was  natu 
rally  curious  to  see  the  strangers,  and  was  too  great  a  potentate 
himself,  and  too  valiant  a  chief  to  entertain  any  apprehension  of 
their  power.  Of  their  treatment  of  his  kinswoman,  (Walla,  he 
had  up  to  this  period  heard  nothing,  and  his  invitation,  a 
ingly,  through  his  inferior  cassiques,  was  cordially  extended  to 
the  Spanish  commander  to  visit  him  in  the  recesses  "f  his  wild 
domain.  Ili^  chief  settlements  were  along  the  hanks  «»f  the  river 
which  still  bears  his  name — his  territories  stivtrhed  away  indefi 
nitely,  even  beyond  the  waters  of  the  Mississippi.  A^  tin-  M ran 
gers  drew  nigh  to  his  royal  precincts,  he  despatched  his  son  to  give 
them  special  welcome — a  youth  of  eighteen,  but  tall  like  himself, 
his  stature  far  overtopping  that  of  tin-  tallest  soldiers  in  the 
Spanish  army.  His  bold  and  noble  carriage  contributed,  with 
his  stature,  to  compel  the  respect  and  admiration  of  the  Adelan- 
tado  and  his  cavali 

But  ere  the  arrival  of  this  youth,  a<  an  ambassador,  there  was 
some  stir  in  the  Spanish  camp,  in  consequence  of  the  treatment 
which  Philip  de  Va-conselos  had  receive.!.  The  return  of  Nuno 
de  Tobar,  and  Andres  de  Vasconselo-,  led  to  warm  \v«nU.  angrv 
passion,  and  finally  to  a  iv-cxaminatiou  of  the  alfair.  If  Andres 
felt  coldly  towards  his  brother — and  no  doubt  hi-  conscience  had 
long  since  rebuked  him  severely  for  his  conduct,  for  which  his  boyish 
pride  would  suffer  him  to  make  no  atonement — his  feeling-;  of 
kindred  were  by  no  means  subdued.  Now  that,  his  l»ro:l»«-r  was 
dishonored,  and  had  probably  peii-hed  in  consequence  of  the 

HI 


Kt\  471 

exile  anil  exposure  n  ,\vd  hi-  sentence,  the  Letter  nature 

of  th.-  .in  obtained  tli,-  ascendant,  and  he  f  It  hi-  error  to 

its  full  extent,  ami    bitterly  lamented    the   little   svmpathv  \\  hich 

:  >hnwn  to  a  In-other  to  whom  he  \\as  indebted  fi 
training    and    atlection    of  hi-  ,ar,; 

:  ! v  arou-ed  ti,  t,,  tlie  Qi 

catini:  th.-  fame  OX  Philip,  and.  if  poasfl)  .nJ   re- 

g  him  to  the  arm\.      To  thi.-  end  their  earned  etiort-  were 

•  d.      The  wood-  were    -enured  where   tlu    virtini    had    l.eei. 
left  to  |.,-ri-li.  hut  in  vain.      He  mu  in  tlie  cl 

of  the  I'rinress  ofGopftofaiqui — not  so  far,  indeed,  frmn  tin-  ramji 
of  tlie  Spaniards— not  so  much  l.evond  their  rea,-h      1,1,1  d,. 
hi-  himaelfbeen  willing,  he  ini^ht  have  l.eeii  found.      Hut  in  \\h;,t 
"iil'i  it    !•«•  i   t<.  him  that   he  was   not  j  nr.Mu-d  \\ith 

malice,  an. 1  that  justice  >hould  he  don,.  t«,  hi- worth  at  la-t  :      II. 
might  well   question   the   motive-   for   the   -eareh   on  the    • 

t'rom  \\hom  he  had  never  yet   (  \j.<  ri, m<  d   -\:i:j.ath\    or 
eonlid' 

dla  and  her  followers  were  all  well  aware  of  the  nei-ihl.or- 
•'  the  Spanish  parties  sent  out  in  sean-h  of  Philip— i.. 
f  wa-  not    ignorant,  and  he   mi<:lit    p.  >— il.ly  ha\ . 
their    Letter    motive-.  kno\\  in^   a-   lie   did   that 'his   brotheJ 
Nnno  de  Tnliar  were  at    the  head  of  the-e  detaehnieiit- ;    l.ut    he 
now  no  longer  eared  to   resume  a  connection  with   the  associates 
who  had  abandoned  him.  and  with  an  expedition  wlx-t-  dai!\  j.n»- 
I  revolted   all  hi-   human  and    chivali'ou-   smtim,  i;t-.'     Ur. 
sidi-.^hi-  had  Leeii  inexpial.lv  «li-«;rac.  d    according  t«.  all  the  laws 
of  chivalry,  and  there  wa-  no  adequate  [  oWjOT  to  do  him    ; 
:m<1  t"  A  MVagC  loom  of  all  -o.-ia]  relations 

took  the  place  in  hi-  !>.,-,,, ,1  of  the  -.M-mi,.,.  >\  mpathi.'-  i 

eheri-h.  '  A  fierce  mood  piv\ed  like  a  vulture  upon  his 
'-.  and  he  brooded  only  upon  re\ .  Dffe,     Thi-  was  now  the 
g,  the  coni|M-n-ative  sentiment  \\hieh  h 
tlK.iiL'ht  \\a-  \\h«ill\  addre-^,-,1  to  the   nx-drs  l,y  \\hidi 
wreak  the  full  mea-nre  ,,j'  hi-  vengeance  upon'the  two  \\hom    he 
-   the   principal-   in    hi-   Lrr«-at    d'i^raee.  md 

hit  hopes  and  honor.     Histhoughl  l.\  da\.  hi> 

lit.  found  him  . 

^ith    I)«,n  P.aliha/,  rait)  and    the    1,  \defan- 

tado  ;    and    If  -at    or  wandered  \\ith    hi- 

and  aUent,  foUowing  the  :  •  •       -    tniarda  \\ith  . 

mind;   a  Kale,  him-elf  i  hr.  atenin<:  l.ut  tun  tnii\  the  m.-Ianehnly 

which  att.nded  upon  their  ;< 
It  Was  with  a  j.'!o,.m\  f.-.-lin^  of  l.itt.  iTe--  and  ^elf  re 


472 

Andres  de  Vaseonselos  and  Nuno  de  Tobar  gave  up  the  searci 
after  the  fugitive.  They  naturally  concluded  that  he  had  per 
ished — the  victim  of  the  red  men.  But  they  addressed  them 
selves  to  the  business  of  the  inquiry  touching  the  charges  brought 
against  him,  and,  in  particular,  as  concerned  the  agency  of  Don 
Balthazar  in  the  affair.  In  respect  to  this  person,  Nuno  <!«•  T<>- 
bar  could  give  considerable  evidence.  The  conviction  that  Don 
Balthazar  had  been  the  vindictive  pursuer  of  his  brother  to  de 
struction,  prompted  Andres  de  Vasconselos  to  hurry  to  the  village 
of  Chiaha.  where  the  former  had  been  left  in  command.  roolved 
to  disgrace  him  by  blows,  and  force  him  to  single  combat.  I  !•• 
was  met  on  his  arrival  by  the  intelligence,  already  known  to  us, 
of  the  murder  of  the  knight,  and  of  the  flight  of  the  page  .luan — 
the  latter  being  supposed  by  some  the  assassin  ;  by  others,  the 
red  men  were  credited  with  the  achievment,  the  boy  being 
thought  their  captive. 

Andres  de  Vasconselos  was  disarmed  by  this  intelligence,  which 
had  the  further  effect  of  relieving  Hernan  de  Soto  of  much  of  the 
responsibilities  of  his  situation.  Though  bold  and  haughty  enough, 
it  was  yet  quite  too  important  to  the  safety,  not  less  than  the 
success,  of  the  Adelantado,  to  venture  to  defy  the  complaints  and 
indignation  of  some  of  his  bravest  knights.  He  now  began  to 
feel  that  he  should  need  the  very  meanest  of  his  force  to  carry 
through  the  objects  of  his  expedition,  and  in  "propitiating  the  cap 
tains  who  had  interested  themselves  in  the  case  of  Philip,  the 
death  of  Don  Balthazar  afforded  a  ready  agency.  He  was  in 
fact,  the  chief  criminal,  and  De  Soto  was  really  but  his  creature. 
Facts  were  exposed  by  Tobar,  showing  the  bitter  malice  of  Don 
Balthazar;  and  the  very  creatures  whom  he  had  suborned  against 
the  knight  of  Portugal,  were  now  not  unwilling  to  expos*-  tin- 
influences  which  were  brought  to  bear  for  his  destruction.  IV 
Soto,  after  the  farce  of  a  solemn  reconsideration  of  the  ease.  \\as 
brought  to  revoke  his  judgment;  but  it  was  too  late  !  Philip  de 
Vasconselos  had  undergone  a  fearful  change  of  character.  He 
was  now  the  vulture  of  revenge,  hovering  in  the  rear  of  the  de 
voted  cavalcade,  waiting  his  moment  when  to  swoop  down  in 
blood  upon  the  quarry. 

Close  and  ominous  watch,  indeed,  did  he  keep  upon  the  move 
ments  of  the  Spaniards  through  the  agency  of  the  red  men  of  Co- 
fachiqui.  They  were  gathering  daily  In  numbers,  well  armed, 
and  eager  for  revenge.  They  \vnv  joined  by  the  warriors  of 
Chiaha,  and  tacitly,  as  it  seemed,  did  they  refer  the  whole  conduct 
of  their  people  to  the  direction  of  Philip  de  VascoiiM'los.  In  this 
they  naturally  obeyed  the  wishes  of  the  Prim-ess;  but  this  influ- 


THE    FATE.  473 

might  not  have  sufficed  to  confer  upon  him  this  authority, 
were  it  not  that  they  were  instinctively  impressed  by  himself,  by 
th«-  great  injuries  which  had  made  him  the  incarnation  of  (hat 
wild  revenge  which  the  red  men  so  much  love  and  honor,  and 
l>y  his  unquestionable  ability  as  a  commander.  He.  him 

ied  to  take  their  lead  as  a  matter  of  OOtme.  He  neither 
a-ked  them  nor  himself  in  respect  to  the  matter.  He  willed,  and 

submitted.  He  pointed  with  his  finger  hither  or  thither,  and 
they  sped.  They  saw  his  purpose  in  his  look.  They  took  their 
directions  from  his  eye  and  hand  ;  and  there  was  that  of  the  ter 
ribly  savage  in  his  fearful  glance,  and  so  much  of  the  sublimely 
fearful  in  the  embodied  woe  which  seemed  to  speak  in  every  silent 
lo.>k  and  posture,  that  to  submit  and  obey  was  the  voluntary  im- 
ptiNe  of  all  who  looked  upon  the  noble  outlaw. 

The  one  purpose  which  occupied  his  mind,  Mifficed  to  concen 
trate  all  his  faculties.     Tin-  Spaniard-  now  bewail   daily  to  expe- 

e  the  influence  of  a  will  and  a  power  which  threatened  them 
with  the  :-s.  the  nioiv  formidable.  a<  it  was  still  im- 

-ible  to  conjecture  what  shape  the  danger  was  to  take,  or  when 
and  where  the  blow  was  to  fall.  An  ominous  gloom  86-  med  to 
hang  upon  their  hearts.  Superstitious  apprehensions  haunted 
their  souls — a  cloud  seemed  to  hang  upon  th.-ir  pathway,  in  no 
decree  relieved  by  the  courteous  invitations  of  the  great  easNi.ji:,-. 
Tux-alu/a.  Weariness,  exhaustion,  daily  toil  and  march,  and 
continued  disappointments,  no  doubt  combined  to  rentier  them 

'•dally  sensible  to  such  fears  and  doubts.      Hut  th.-iv   \ 
external  evidences  daily  offered  them  which  had  their  effect,  also, 
in  compelling  and   arousing  their  superstitious  The    red 

men  seemed  to  have-  altered  their  whole   policy.     They  ho\ 
ut  the  advancing  army,  but  without  coming  to  blows.     'I 
no  longer   rushed    out    boldly  from    beneath   the    f,,r,-t    tiv, 
groups,  or  single  men.  challenging  the  invader  to  the  en 

l>ut  if  they  did  not  light,  they  did  not  fly.  Thnv.  in 
front,  and  flank,  and  rear,  they  might  be  seen  to  hover  lik 
many  threatening  clouds,  retiring  into  safety  when  approached, — 
not  to  be  overtaken, — but  still  giving  proofs  that  they  \\  ere  unre- 
laxing  in  that  haunting  watch  and  pursuit  which  they  had  begun 
from  the  moment  wh«-i.  -  tool;  command.  It  may  be 

that  1  )c,  Soto  and  others  suspected  his  pretence  and  authority 

among   the   red    men.  and    that   a  gloomy   pp  ':d  vague 

ten  the  result  nf  thi<  Mi-pieion.  .each 

day  added   large  increase.     The  Spaniards  now   longed    f»r 
strife  ;   they  felt  how  much  easier  and  more  grateful    it  \\ould  be 
to  bring  this  annoyance  to  prompt  and  desperate  issue,  which  vexed 


474 

their  pride  and  perpetually  troubled  their  securities.  But  thei 
strove  for  this  in  vain.  Many  were  the  cflbrts  which  they  made 
to  beguile  the  savages  to  battle, — 1<>  ensnare  them  in  ambush, — 
to  run  them  down  with  their  mounted  men;  but  the  vigilant 
generalship  of  the  Portuguese  eavalier  held  them  in  close  hands, 
and  they  hung  about  the  wearied  Spaniards  like  clouds  of  vora 
cious  birds,  sufficiently  nigh  to  seize  their  prey  when  occasion 
offered,  but  at  a  safe  distance  from  any  danger.  Daily  they  MIC- 
ceeded  in  picking  up  some  victim  from  the  ranks  of  tin-  invader* 
Not  a  loiterer  escaped  the  bow-shaft  or  the  macana.  The 
straggler  invariably  perished — pierced  with  sharp  arrow-.  «•• 
brained  with  the  heavy  hatchet  of  stone.  It  was  death  to  tuiii 
aside  into  the  covert;  it  was  fatal  to  charge  beyond  the  ranks 
which  offered  immediate  support.  One  newly  adopted  policy 
of  the  red  men  seemed  particularly  ominous  to  the  Spaniards. 
They  now  addressed  their  shafts  to  the  breasts  of  the  1, 
rather  than  the  cavaliers,  and  every  now  and  then  some  tine 
•-teed  fell  a  victim  under  the  unexpected  arrow,  despatched  from 
.msuspected  coverts  where  the  assailants  found  impenetrable 
shelter. 

Thus  haunted,  thus  troubled  with  evil  omens,  the  Spanish  arm y 
made  its  way  into  the  thickly  settled  countries  of  the  Alabamoiis. 
This  people,  under  the  swav  of  Tuscaln/a.  were  probably  com- 
po-cd  of  the  Choctaws,  Chirkasaws.  and  the  remnants  of  other 
tribes.  They  were  numerous,  in  comparison  with  the  other 
nations  of  the  red  men.  and  wen-  a-  fearle-s  and  practiced  in 
warfare  as  they  were  numerous.  De  Soto.  in  entering  th.-ir 
great  towns  and  villages,  did  so  with  unusual  precaution.  His 
mind  was  impressed  evidently  with  a  far  greater  sense  of  the  re 
sponsibilities  and  difficulties  of  his  filiation  than  had  ever  been  the 
case  bcfoiv.  His  apprehensions  and  disquiet  were  jin-atly  in 
creased  at  this  period  by  a  new  evil;  an  epidemic  appeared 
among  his  troops,  which  was  fatal  to  many.  They  were 
with  a  low  fever,  which  seemed  to  prostrate  them  instantly.  At 
the  end  of  a  very  few  days  they  peri-lied;  the  skin,  even  before 
death,  becoming  of  a  discolored  and  greenish  hue.  and  their  bodies 
i-mitting  a  fetid  odor.  A  terrible  fear  possessed  the  army,  that 
jhey  were  poisoned — that  the  subtle  savages  had  mixed  their 
rnai/e.  or  the  waters  of  the  streams,  with  some  vegetable  p"i->n 
of  great  potency.  We  may  imagine  the  terror  that  >ei/ed  upon 
all  hearts  from  a  conjecture  so  full  of  horror.  S.  .m.-  .if  their 
Tameiies.  however,  sugge-ti-d  a  native  remedy  for  the  di 
which  was  probably  due  rather  to  exhaustion  and  unsatisfactory 
food,  A  ley,  made  from  the  allies  of  a  certain  herb,  and 


476 

mingled  with  their  food  in-1  bej   had  ' 

— was  found    ;.»    ail'ord    >»-<-urit\  "     ':.      !>ut    many  of 

rMu-d    of  tli.-    disorder    before    tin-    remedy    was    made 
known. 
Tu- 
from    his    capital    cilv.       IK-    probably    did    n»'  '.hat    tlu- 

•:u-  1-  should    '  :«>  that    place,      lint  hi-  <li<l  not  U • 

the  character  of  the  invaders.   The  haughty  chief  »medihe 

antado  in   a    truly  royal    manner.  \viili   «;ivat  -how   • 

:  a  dignity  which   nii^lit    have   furnish-  .  -1  :«•  tin- 

H,,I,  no.     Hi-  inn,.  r«  t 

lemeaoor,  ja-rf.-.-t  oom] 

,v*kin«l.  had  tin-  rlll-.-t  of  awinii  tlu-  Sj.anianl>   into 

.••tiling  like  rev«reooe,  i;  Tli'-  A-lrlantail-*  • 

,1  him  \\;  BOarlet,  and  with  a  (low!: 

mat.  rial.      Tlu^»-    In-  woiv  with   a   natural    moe  w  lii«-li 
red  him  siijHTii.r  to  tlu-  rtl'ort-  «.f  thr  arti>t.      With  \i\<  • 
towi-rinir  i'li:inc<.  In-  lu-canu-  tin-   cr«»wninLr  and  (•••ntral  li«risr»-.  of 
riilht.  amid   tlu    ^raiid   a>si'iiiliia^r   of  nativr  ch'u-flains  aiul  >ti-t-l- 
.\horn    lu-    wa-»    MiiToundfil.       1'lu-    Adi-lantadu 
addi-d  to  that    of  a  hone  also;    though  it  was  with  -ivat 

ditliciiltv  that  a    lu-a-t  was   t'oiind   Milliriciitly  j»o\vorful  t«>  i-mluiv 
the  Wright  ot'  -;d  a  warrior. 

Th,-  •    i  »     9         bis  L'itN  and   attentions  \vnv  not 

unj,.  •    tin-    haui:ht\   ( 'a  — iijiif.  and    lu-   i-h.-.-rfnily    accom 

panied  tin-in  in  a  march  ot'  tlm  •  •  one  "f  his  fn-^t- 

vill.,  1  after  liiniM-lf,  Tuvalu/a.     Tlii-  \illairc  >l»»»d  II|M»II 

iia  of  the  Alabama  Ilivi  r.     The  river  was  crossed  w'nh- 

ditli.-uity.  and  the  army  encamped  for  the  niirht  in  a  lieantifnl 
valleV.  aliont  a  Ie6|  '"d  the  place  of  pa^an-1.      'I  hci". 

•\I\IT  and  ',  lor  -"ine  hours  in  ilu-  Spani-li  camp,  and 

'J'u.  inta.io.       Hut 

Aiihout    tlu-    pr  i',  and 

8     i-.iards.  ih  He  watch    to    «li^cov.-r  his    place  of   IT- 

r  the  ni^ht.  failed  •  r..\i^h   the  wild 

•iiroiiL'h    whi.-h.   with    his    attendants  he    mad*'    hi<    - 
j',u!  ;:,  iithi-r  watclu-rs  nior»-  «.ue«vWul.  and  when 

.    hut    two    milet   from    tlu- 
3  'iind    tlu-    l)cautiful     Triiu-os     Co. 

i  in  the  |( 
}„.;,  man,  one   of  the    • 

gent! 

;ila   threw    lu-  tin-  nee'.  .du/a,  and 


476  VASCONSELOS. 

Welcomed  with  sue\i  a  decree  of  fondness  a^  was  (••insistent  with 
the  pride  and  jn.wer  of  so  haughty  a  inonaivh.  He  reerived  her 
with  tenderness  even,  and  she  wept  sweet  tears  upon  the  luvnst 
<)f  him  who  had  l>eell  the  Well-heloved  bl'otlier  of  lie!'  mother. 

What  fool  was  it  who  lir>t  taught  that  the  red  men  Iaeke-1  tlit 
seiisildlities  of  humanity  ? 

But  we  must  defer  our  further  report  to  another 


CHA1TKK   XLV. 

u  Dp,  sword,  and  know  iliou  u  morr  liomd  ln-ni  " 

THE  gigantic  and  haughty  -overeiirn  of  the  Alabanums  v  a* 
S4-nsibl\  awed  l.v  tlu-  -J.-rn  a-pect  w  hieh  encountered  him.  when 
he  turned  from  the  beautiful  Cocalla  to  ,>.  tO  hi-  abode  the 

outlawed  knight  of  Portugal.      Stern  self-possession,  calm  inll  -v 
ihle  cndur..:  Significant  of  the  l>i.ur  heart  ami  the  unyielding 

the  master  virtues  of  the  red  men.     In  brief 

dla  had  convened  to   her  uncle  the   -imple  outline  of 
!1   as   her  own.  >imv  sb 

tir.-t  come  to  a  knowledge  of  the  Spaniards.     Tu-«-alu/a  had  heard 

,  to  eomj'el    hi-   re-pect    for   the  knight,  and   to  -ecurc   hi- 
gratitude  and  confidence  in  consideration  of  what  he  had  «! 
IS,      I'm  wlu-M  he  looked  on  IMiilij'.  he  -aw  bcf< 
no  ordinars    warrior.      He   felt  him-df  in  ?h.-  pr  R  Fati- 

.  terror  and   a  p»\\,-r.  the    resources  and  purpose  of   \\hieh 
.id    in>tantlv  conjcctm-e   from    the   mixed  a-pert  of  , 

.tnce  which  confroiite.l  him.      II. 

the  knight,  but  tin-  latter  had  no  an-wcr;   and  the  gai 
\\ho  seemed    at  once  to  comprehend  the  nature  and  the  m 
of  the  «-:i\ali.  r.  -ate  (|uietl\    be-ide  him    upon  tlu-  bear  >ki' 

•    coinj.oM-dly.  while  ('.u-alla    proceeded  to    unfold 
the  detajl-  of  that  lon^r  hi-tory  which  .-he   had   hilh*-rt.»  r.  : 
him  in  the  hi ,   I  '.Me  manner. 

Tooi.e\\h"   -hoiild    ivuranl   only  th.1  outer 
man,  the  li-atur.  i    not  the  slici, 

of  ih"  impression  which  this  narrative  made  upon  hi-  M-ul.      Hut 

the  pride,  anger,  fiei  ger  impni 

no!  th--  I  ••  ill    hi-  1"  W  'in.  becau-e    th' 

-iun-  of  their  pr 

and  threw  off  the  BC8J   •  '  •  which  1  ' 

.pon    the  earthen  ll  : 

his  cabin,  and,  a-  he  pared  th.-    apartment    to    and  fro.  h"  W 
over  '. 

is  hand  0  'I'hc    latter  t.-,k  it  with 

out  a  word   ajid   rose      !!••   laid   hia  own  hand  upon  hU* 
and  said,  in  •!. 

,  a  \\  irrior,     il<    *ill  Gghl  the  battl.  -  «.f  ;h- 


478  VASCONSELOS. 

Tu-caluza.  Will  the  Oassi.nie  >av  to  his  warriors — Go!  follow 
Philip,  that  we  laav  drive  the  Spaniards  to  their  homes  beyond 
the  B 

"That    we    may  drive  them  into  the   sea!*1  wa>   the   fur 
s'M>n>e.  a-  the  -avage  OlODarch  again  eageri}'  grasped  the  hand  of 
the  knight,     ii  •  added  -"  Philip  shall  U-  a'gV.-ai  chief  of  the  A! 
abam- ,i~.     ll.'-hal!  bave many  warriors  -\\  hiui  to  hattl»\ 

..dl  show  to  the  Hlaek  warrior  of  the  Alaba'iiou-  h-.w  wo 
may  best  feed  on  tin-si-  Spaniards,  and  rapture  the  mighty  bea-t.s 
upon  which  they  ride/' 

"It  shall  he  done.  Let  Philip  be  clad  in  the  war-paint  <>t  the 
Alabamous.  and  bring  him  garments  for  a  ehief  of  th_-  ivd  me;;.'' 

\Vli-Ji  Philip  had  spoken  th<-se  words.  ( 'ocalla  threw  her  arms 
nhout  his  neck.  He  did  not  return  her  caresses,  hut  he  linked 
into  her  tare  with  a  tender  sadness,  which  for  a  moment  smoothed 
rribie  expression  from  his  \i-age.  At  this  moment  the 
•  !nan  entered  the  apartment.  (Jocalla  caught  his  glance, 
and  instantly  withdrew  her  arms  from  the  neck  of  V 
How  subtle  are  the  feminine,  instincts.  The  forest  Prince-s 
seemed  to  know  that  -I  nan  looked  not  favorably  upon  the  pas 
sion  which  she  felt  for  Philip.  The  page,  meanwhile,  recoiled 
from  ilie  planer  of  Tuscalu/.a.  who.  as  he  iv^-mled  the  intruder, 
stopped  in  his  walk,  exclaiiring — ''  ilah!" 

''••calhi  calmly  bade  the  page  enter,  and  explained  his  relation 
with  Va<consr|os. 

"It  i>  g'»->  L"  replied  tin  (lassiijii.-.  re-iiming  his  walk.  "  It  is 
.  but  let  him  go.  till  one  shall  come  to  him  and  sa \ .  '  thy 
master  hath  use  for  thec.'  and  his  tinker  conveyed  the  same  di 
rection-;  to  the  page  himself.  With  a  sad.  longing  look  toward-; 
Philip — who  did  not  seem  to  heed  him,  or,  indeed.  t-»  heed  any 
thing — Jnan  turned  away,  and  left  the  hovel. 

It  was  then  that  TllSCaluza  brought  forth  sundry  rich  garments 
of  native  furs  and  cotton,  the  latter  stained  brightly  with  yellow, 
the  color  of  the  nation,  and  erosse.d  with  liars  of  blue.  The  ban 
ner  of  Tusealu/a  was  thu-  1.  the  bars  of  blue  being  three 
in  number.  These  were  presented  to  Philip,  who  received  them 
a^  a  matter  of  course,  with  something  of  iiidilK-renee  in  his  man- 
Mer,  while  he  -looped  carefully  and  picked  up  the  scarlet  robes 
•ij-on  which  Tuvalu/a  had  so  scornfully  trampled.  Thc-e  he  re- 

I    to    the   ('as-d<|iie. 

"  Why  should  the  gr-at  warrior  show  to  the  Spaniards  that  he 
is  aiii:r\,  and  ea-t  hi-  gifts  upon    tin-  ground  .'      Let  the  rode    dis- 
the    wrath.      Let    the    great    warrior    rather   persuade   tho 


THK  srv.MAims  MKRRY.  479 

Spaniards   th  aor   tell  him   when   In-   nn-a: 

strii 

•    eorre-j.oneied  haj.pilv  with  the  <jeniu-  of  | 


-;ii«l  i  he   eh:ef.  iv-uminLr  an-1  >hakin«i   th.-  robes,  l.ut 
will  -IT   them    from    th.-    Mains    which    they    ha  i 

TI   from   tin-  ear'h.      When    th,- 

t)le  tn  th.-  eyea  of  tin-  Sj.aniar.l-.  th.- 
ant  laui;li  at  ;!i  •  .  Kpense  "f  th.-  Lrnm  <farrior. 

the  <  bnaries  la-t  ni^h:. 
Era    •  :   ,  "  said  Nun..  ,h-  T..l>ar.     -  H»-  hath  been  rolli 

hill,  an.l  in.  -thinks  hath   1  a-1  a  taM.-  of  tlu-  river,  \vhi,-h  doubl 
fail.'.l  to  n-Iish  after  the  \vinc." 

(eflor    Nnno,"  was   th,>   rep]  V,  M  he    walkc.l   awav  with 
all  th.-  «>ivrtn<-vs  which  h.-  >h..  \vc.l  at  the  l..-Lrim; 

.  I'Ut  .li.l  v.»u  not  sec  that  h«-  n.-v.-r  tniM.-.l  hiniM-lf  to  tin- 
hack  of  his  hone.      If  was  h-1  otn.v  One  of  his  follow.-ix  .-m,!  j,L. 
away  on 

1   ha.l  thin,-  ejCfl  hut   fi  >!lo\ve«l   him  as  he  sped,  then 
1st  tli.Mi   hav.-  sn-n  that  his  movement  was  soli,)  an  ; 
1'k'-  "'•  went    not  to  the   ri-ht   n..r  to  the  left,  till   the 

-••!  him." 

"Then  hath   he  ha.l  a  l-rcw  of  his  own 

tll<1^'  vt;ti'^  Of  et  an-  th..s,.  ,,f  a  man  who  hath  \val!o\v,-ll 

the  l.oxoiM  of  his  mother,  \\itlioiit  knowiiiir  well  what  arm* 
i  him.     A,,  th. 

•  An.l  uiH-n    that  thou  foiin.l\t    thv  argument  !*.-:• 

*nd  juutlfication,     Q          3efior  N     o,  and  let  not  this  h.-athen 

'  that  you  lanirh  at  his  •,,  -ifsiich  i' 

i.l  ami  jealoii.  of  hi 
when  he  ha-1  - 

that  thy  detachment  !>«•  i;,  m  i 

1  that  there  MV  «jnar.U  upon  hi-  i 
Su.-h    was    the    policy    of    the    Sj  ftniai 

i.      A;i  thar  ;ii-iit   ' 

:  :  Co^all  ,  tired.    Juan  wa 

waiting,  l.ut  in  an  a  :  Mn. 

n  that  th. 
unfold  ti.  ,,  i,,.,,.,!^ 

' 
Bpai 

or  ilaj-infT  th  M. 


480  VASCOXSELOS. 

host,  but  urged,  in  the  meanwhile,  that,  in  the  event  of  a  conflict, 
ii. •  of  act  ion  should  always  In-  so  chosen  as  to  deprive  the 
cavalrv  of  all  share  in  the  battle.  It  was  this  counsel  that  filially 
determined  TllSCaluza  to  conduct  the  enemy  to  one  of  his  largest 
towns,  named  Mauvila.  This  was  a  walled  town,  and  is  si-j 
to  have  >!ood  upon  the  northern  hank  ot'the  Alabama,  at  a  place 
now  called  Choctaw  Point.  The  town  of  Mauvila  occupied  a 
noble  plain.  The  walls  were  rude,  being  high  embankments  of 
earth  and  wood,  filled  in«between  great  forest  trees;  the  wood 
being  fastened  in  piles  with  vines  and  reeds,  and  the  face  of'  the 
wall  being  plastered  with  a  thick  coating  of  native  elay  or  earlli. 
which  hardened  into  smooth  consistency  in  the  sun  and  air.  The 
defences  were  Alight,  of  course — such  as  strong  arms  and  good 
•  iild  hew  down  in  short  time,  and  through  which  the  small 
falemiets  of  that  day  could  have  easily  blown  a  capacious  opening. 
But  the  Spaniards  were  without  artidery  of  any  kind.  Still,  they 
had  adcouate  implements  for  breaking  their  way,  if  time  were 
allowed  them.  The  wall  was  pierced  with  loop-holes  for  arrows, 
and  at  certain  moderate  distances  it  was  surmounted  by  numer 
ous  towers,  each  capable  of  holding  a  sc«,re  of  fighting  men. 
There  were  but  two  gates,  one  on  the  east,  the  other  on  th 
side.  In  th"  centre  «>f  the  village  was  a  great  stjuare,  or  parade- 
ground,  around  which  the  buildings  were  erected.  These  did  not 

i  a  hundred  in  number,  but  they  were  mostly  vast  for:: 
capable  of  containing  entire  tribes,  from   five  hundred    to  fifteen 
hundred    persons   in   each — great  halls  only,  without  rooms  ;   the 
red  men  lodging  togeih.-r  as  in  caravanserais. 

To  this  place,  thus  constructed,  the  Black  Warrior  conducted 
O18  destined  victims.  He  was  accompanied  by  few  personal  at 
tendants,  and  no  warriors.  To  this  he  had  been  counselled  by 
Vasconselos.  I  Jut  he  had  made  preparations  elsewhere  for  tin- 
part  which  his  followers  had  to  play,  and  the  conseioiisne--  that 
he  was  hdd  a  close  prisoner  bv  the  very  courteous  knight  \\ho 
attended  him,  did  not  lessen  his  purpose  of  giving  the  Spaniards 
such  sauce  to  their  supper  as  would  effectually  spoil  their  appe 
tite-.  When  the  vanjnard  of  DC  Solo's  army  appeared  before 
the  town,  the  . \delanta  lo  leading  and  accompanied  by  Tu-calu/a, 
a  splendid  array  of  the  native  warriors,  flaunting  in  t'-a!l: 
robe-  of  fur  and  nitton.  «»f  varion-  and  brilliant  colors,  came 
forth  to  m.  et  them.  To  th.-e  succeeded  long  lin.-s  ..f  beautiful 
(|;,il|Sel- — and  they  were  beautiful  though  du  k\  "d.'.rk  but 
com-'K"  to  WOT  the  m  iid  who  \\.-i-,  -uiig  b\  tile  ei'iin-j  mu-c  t.f 

Sololiion   the    Wise. Tli«  -c  c:i  me  fort  ll  \\  i'  h   -  -n^s  and  « l:r 

ie-  of  rec.l.  th  •  -i  n|  "i  -'•    minis  ami 


THE    KATE    FOLLOW&  481 

drums,  made  of  the  gourd.  eo\eivd  with  -kin-  tightly  drawn,  and 
long   clarions,  hollowed   out  of  the   -oft    wood-    common  to  the 

merrily  :i>  marriage  bells,  aiid  I)e 
for  apprchen-ion  ;    l.ut  he  h;ui  some   . 

doubt,  \\lu-n,  on   entering  tin-   town,  he  found  that,  \\hii,-  I,,-. 
him 

couple  of  th»-  best   bouses  of  the  place,  hia  troops  were  to   In- 
ins  w  ithout  the  walls.     The  great  bod)  of  the  army 

kid  d.  l.ut  followed  on.  .,.!    \t)n   tardily,  un 

der  the  .  Luis  (!«•   \\ 

l«jii.-  iely,  but  unseen,  upon  the  steps  ofW  like 

'ug  thunder  eloii.l  that  marshals  its  mi^lity  l-^\<  >n-  i.n  ilu- 

fthe  horbou     IMnli;.  d,-  Vtsconseloa  f..!lowi-,l  wirj, 

a  force  of  some  thnv   thousind    warrioix      A   dn/.-u   times    Wai 
he  teinj.h'd  Ity  th.  inaniu-r  of  M  tardi  to  d.-irt 

upon  him  witli  hi-  cloud  i.f  ,nd  destroy  him,  it'  • 

before  he  could  unite  with  Den  ;   i-.n^  afl  did 

hf    ivpn-arh    iiiin-df  with   not    bavil  »,      (  '..uld  1,,.  j. 

th«-  hannerrt  of  J  >«m  P.alih  Vivaro   llamitii:^   aniid-t 

tin-  gay  array,  hr    ecu;  :;;,,.{_      |t 

Kaltha/ar  first,  and    !  •  -          next,  that  hi-  con- 

Ither  of  th 

timulate  hi-  r.  .  be  might  mar  the  : 

eluded  upon   with   the    Illa.-k  \\'arri<.r.  },y  anticipating  the  <]. 

I  nionimt.  and   v.m,-   fuLMtiy«-s    mi-jlit    escape  «'ii  h..ix,.ha.-k. 
and  OODvej    to  th.-  y.-ry  vietims  whom  h.-  >..uirht.  tin-  iiit.-llii:.-!i«-e 
Which  shouhl  eiiahlr  them  to  guard  effectually  againM  th 
Hungering,  th.-r.-f.-re.  f..r  the  action,  h,.  wa-  OOmp  11  To) 

himself  and  hi-  n-d  followers— n  .-k — and  which  h«-.  j,,.r. 

ll:l!'  'l«.n.-   l.ut   that  he  was   supported    l,y  tf,(. 

and  autli.  -.rail;,,  tlh     I' 

MI  M  h.-  went,  the  two  tMlowt-d  1,\  .luan.  with  \\ild  emo- 

ti-.n-  ,,fa  ptaaipnaie  love  and  anger  mixed     Th.-  \\r.-teh«-d  ! 

He,  <     ',  hi      hi-  temptation-,  and  more  t!  ,,„)  ],;,',,. 

lift  his  Ian,-.-,  and  strike  it  into  th,-  1,-iek  "ftlu- 
,'iful  Princr-s.  though  with  the  e,-r?aii;ty  of  imm.-diat.-  •!• 
liims,-lf.  tl,at  he  might  *-ud  hi-  pa] 
l.\-  '  .'.  and    the   tender  d.-v..ti.,ii  «'.f  th. 

IMiilip.  i.  red    them    to    sl,.,-|i   f.ra  -iipjl.-    mumi-nt.      It 

wm  itill  .1  t'.  •  h  i   •'.,!!  that    i  him.    H 

sllll|l!l1    Jli-  l!-  :    the   aiiL'«-r  in  tho,,-   of  Philip    u 

he  thus  to 

Tuscaluza   ha-i  !e  body  of  warriors  with  him   at 

21 


482  VASCONSELOS. 

Mauvila — possibly  three  or  four  thousand.  There  were  still 
other  bodies  collecting.  The  always  extravagant  statements  of 
the  Spanish  and  Portuguese  authorities,  by  which  they  have 
sought  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  the  Went,  and  to  loseii 
the  seeming  losses  of  the  Spaniards  in  the  struggle,  aiv  to  be 
received  with  many  grains  of  allowance.  Let  it 'suffice  that  the 
Black  Warrior  was  embodying,  and  had  embodied,  a  con-idera- 
ble  number  of  warriors,  quite  enough  to  have  devoured  hN  ene 
mies — using  his  own  language — had  there  been  any  equality  in 
their  defences  and  armor.  But  the  Spaniards  were  clad  in 
mail,  covering  the  most  vulnerable  parts;  their  faces  only  par 
tially  exposed,  their  thighs  and  legs.  The  darts  and  arrows  had 
but  small  marks.  The  savages,  on  the  other  hand,  might  as 
veil  have  been  naked.  Their  furs,  bear  skins,  and  even  shields 
>f  hide,  afforded  no  sort  of  protection  from  the  bullet  of  the  fusi- 
leer,  or  even  the  sword-cuts,  the  lance-thrusts,  and  arrows  of 
the  horsemen  and  archers.  Philip  de  Vasconselos  knew  too 
well  the  greatness  of  this  inequality  between  the  combatants, 
and  felt  that  the  very  numbers  of  the  savages,  within  a  certain 
range,  were  rather  hurtful  than  helpful  in  the  action.  The  very 
valor  of  the  red  men  was  a- danger,  since  they  had  not  yet  learned 
to  appreciate  their  foes.  He  strove,  in  every  possible  way.  and 
by  every  argument,  to  teach  this  to  the  Black  Warrior,  and  his 
favorite  captain,  without  offending  their  self-esteem.  Unfortu 
nately  for  them  he  sueceeded  but  imperfectly.  The  pride  and 
passions  of  Tuscaluza  both  operated  fatally  to  precipitate  events 
and  make  him  forgetful  of  all  the  counsels  of  the  Portuguese 
knight. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  of  the  18th  of  October  that  De 
Soto,  with  the  Black  Warrrior,  and  the  vanguard  of  the  Spanish 
army,  entered  the  village,  of  Mauvila.  The  town,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  strongly  fortified,  impregnable,  indeed,  to  Mich  assaults 
a>  were  common  to  the  experience  of  the  red  men.  The  ar 
rangements  of  Tuscaluza  for  the  disposition  of  his  troops  vere 
such  as  to  offend  the  military  caution  of  the  Adelantado.  He 
was  advised,  too,  of  other  suspicious  circiim-tanees  in  the  con 
duct  of  the  red  chief— of  the  gradual  accumulation  of  large  bo 
dies  of  troops — of  the  collection  of  vast  piles  of  weapons  of  war, 
shaft-  and  maeanas — and  of  se\cral  missing  soldiers  >tra;jglers 
who  had  probably  been  ma>siered.  De  Soto  wa-  ATOllsed  and 
anxious,  but  felt  that  it  was  ne<v>siry  to  tempori/e  until  the 
coming  of  Moscoso  with  the  main  body  of  the  army.  He 
affected  to  be  satisfied,  and  felt  that  In-  was  safe  -o  long  as  In- 
bad  Tuscaluza  in  his  custody.  But  the  haughty  spirit  of  the 


•I1IL    K;   PI  I  483 

ign  precipitated  the  issue.      They  had  <  ut--iv<l  the 

town   when  he  signified  to  De  Soto  tin-  abode  which  liad  been 

•  ••I  him.  while  he  indicated  his  own  purpose  to  occupy  ano 
ther.  l)i. t  the  Adelantado  replied,  cavalier)*  perhaps — that  he 
diil  not  approve  of  the  arrangement. 

"'Mi.-  lilack  Warrior  will  remain  with  me/' 
Thi-  haughty  soul  of  Tu-calu/a  then  bla/.ed  out — 
'•The  Black    Warrior  is  the  king  in  all   the-e  countries.      It  is 
for  him  to  command.      It  is  tor  ;di  others  to  ol.e\ .      Tin-  Spanish 
chief  is    at    iilierty  to    depart,  but   he    mu-t    not    pretend    : 
to    Tusealu/a.    here   -halt    thoii    r. main,    or    thither  >halt    tho'u 

go.     Does  the  Spaniard  hearl     Such  is  the  speech  of  th< 

War 

The  moment  wa-  picious  for  a  decisive  reply  to  this 

speech.  -ii<-h  a-,  under  other  cirni1  -          '.\oiild  have 

givi-u.  Tii>«-alii/a  waited  tor  no  answer  to  his  word-.  lie  en 
tered  the  dwelling  which  he  had  indicated  a*«  his  0\\n  abode, 
leaving  tlie  Sj.aiii>li  chief  to  find  L  the  other.  That  in 

which  iielter  contained  a  thousand  warriors.      I ). 

tmietly  proceeded  to  the  .Iwellinjr  appointed  for  his  UM-.  and  in 
stai.tly  sent  out  his  otli  -e«-ivtl\  amoii^  hi-  tmopt-rs, 

•  minaii-l    them  to  hohl  thei.  action. 

-.  hile.  he  resolved  -tiii  to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  friend- 

ship   and    cunliality.      Break!'  prepared,    he   sent    .1  nan 

Ortiz,  the  interpreter,  to  invite  the  lliack  Warrior  t.»  lii<  table. 

:  i-ed  admittance,  but   lr  _      was  deli\ ci'ed.  and 

the  reply  \\a<  civil — -The  Uiaek    Warrior  will  con: 

IJut   tin-.   Uiack  W.  not  com 

and    .Juan  <  Mti/   WAS  >.-iit    \\itli  a  second    m< 

same  answer  as  before.     Th«- >am.- reMiIt   follow. -d.     Th,  : 

a  loij^r  di-lay  ;    and  again  .Inan  Orti/  wa-  de-patched  \v'th  a  third 

\       .  \\hethei-   it    W&fl   that    'lie    intt-r: 

•!    nii-cai  In  hi-  tone   and    lan- 

hether  the  red  nu-n   now   found  then:  ,  !v  (or 

a   chani:e    in    tln-irs  imi-t    D6  a  Sul  tUTej    but.  when 

Juan  Orti/.  *fanding  at  the  door  of  th.    S  .iid  to 

"Tell  .    upon 

the  table;   that   the  Adelantado  awaits  him.  and  -end-  t«»  him  to 
." — then    the    long    siij.j  .-.  r;:i   bn.ko 

out  in  fury.  A  red  warri-T  sallied  l'"r;h  to  tlie  entrance,  crvini: 
aloud,  while  hi  and  all  K!  m  infla'med 

with  an^er — 

••  VaLral'"iiil    and    rol.b,  :  I     b  if  ii    a-    thoii    that 

. 


484  VASCONSELOS. 

forth,  come  forth !  Away  to  thy  robber  master,  and  say  to  him, 
that  when  Tuscaluza  comes  forth  it  is  to  destroy  him.  Hence, 
vagabond!"  And  as  Juan  Ortiz,  half  frightened  out  of  his 
.  sped  away,  he  could  hear  the  grim  savage  exclaim 
proudly — 

'•13y  the  sun  and  moon!  This  is  no  longer  to  be  borne.  To 
your  weapons,  warriors  of  Mauvila,  and  let  us  put  an  end  to  the 
insolence  of  these  wandering  wretches  !" 

The  speaker  was  the  great  leader  of  the  Mauvilians — their 
general — in  their  own  phrase,  the  IJig  Warrior.  He  had  led 
them  in  a  hundred  conflicts.  He  had  won  lame  and  glory  from 
them  all.  His  triumphs  were  about  to  end  with  his  conflicts. 
Having  spoken,  he  beheld  a  group  of  Spaniards  in  tin 
square,  closely  huddled  together.  There  were  other  Spaniards 
near  at  hand,  but  passing  singly.  He  did  not  notice  these,  but 
making  a  signal  to  one  of  his  followers,  a  bow  and  arrows  were 
handed  him.  He  >ei/ed  the  bow,  threw  back  from  his  shoulders 
the  flowing  mantle  of  skins  which  he  wore,  and  was  about  fixing 
the  arrow  to  the  string,  when  his  purpose  was  arrested  and  his 
movements  anticipated  by  the  action  of  one  of  those  cool,  always 
ready  and  prompt  warriors,  to  whom  constant  strife  has  served 
to  impart  resolve  and  instantaneous  action — one  Haltha/ar  de 
Gallegos.  The  sword  from  this  warrior,  already  bared  in  his 
grasp,  flashed  in  air  the  moment,  when  the  15i^  Warrior  i:ra-pcd 
the  bow,  and  before  the  arrow  could  leave  the  string,  the  sharp 
I. lade  was  ranging  through  the  vitals  of  the  red  man,  who  tell 
dead  upon  the  spot.  And  thus  commenced  a  conflict  of  a  charac 
ter  the  most  terrible  and  bloody,  destined  to  paralyxe  the  tor- 
tunes  of  Ilernan  de  Soto.  The  fate  which  had  been  hoveling 
like  a  storm-clovd  above  his  head,  was  swooping  down  at  la.-.t 
upon  his  victim. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

•  Hit  !  what  shout  is  thuf"  Ouriota**t 

THE   soup   of  the   Adehmtndo   that  day  was  cooled  uneaten. 

Scan-fly  had  .Juan  Orti/  entered  the  «lwelling  which  his  ma-ter 

,  |iied.    and    declared    his    tiding,  when    the  war-whoop    rang 
throughout    the   village,  echoed  l»y  five  thousand  vigorous  VOl 

Aarrior-  poured  forth  from  a  thousand  unsuspected  v«nnit»" 

They    slaughtered   tin-  scattered   Spaniard-.  M,  heedle-s   of  their 

leader's  order,  they  lounged  about  street  and  square.      The  latter 

fought.  but  vainly.      They  were  driven  from  the  town;    numbers 

-axv  their   horse*  slain,  shot  down   before    their 

-  ;  a  loss  which  they  held  to  he  even  more  serious  than  of 
tlie  >oldiery.  To  -.lay  the  horse-  was  especially  the  labor  of  one 
lariri-  portion  (.f  the  savages.  To  thi-  had  they  been  eoun-elled 
l»\  their  chief-,  under  in-tnictioiis  of  Vasconselos.  Unluckily  for 
theiux.-lve-.  this  was  almost  the  only  part  of  his  instructions  which 
they  seem  to  have  rememheivd.  But.  for  a  time,  their  - 
\\ere  too  flattering  to  MI  Her  them  to  pause.  The  vanguard  of  the 
Spaniai-ds  expelled  from  their  walls,  several  slain,  many  nion- 
wounded,  inorv  than  thirty  horses  killed  «uitnLrht.  or  maimed  for- 
.  and  the  whole  of  the  l>aLrLMi:e  of  the  inva-liniz  army,  with  the 
single  exccjition  of  one  knight's  etli-i-ts  ;  tl  -  «-al- 

culateil  to  turn  the  heads  «.f  any  savage  peojile.  ignorant  of  their 
enemy,  and  incapaKlc  of  any  true  estimate  of  the  means  l»y  \\hieli 
th«-\  had  won  BUOO 

Mich  had  l.eeii   the  advantaurf-   gained  l.y  the   red  men    in 
tln-ir  first  demonstration  against  the  Spaniard,  at  Mauvila.      They 
had    lo>t    th.-ir   general,  the   fii-n-e    brave  who  liad  so  Mimmarily 
dismi<M-d  .liian  Orti/  \sith   defiance   to  his   master,  and  \\  ho   had 
j-eri^hed  un<lerthe  sudden  sword-thrust  of  Haltha/ar  de  (ial!< 
Ili^  ^on.  a  nolile  voun^  wai'rior.  had  perished  also,  in  the  eill.rt  to 
a\ei)Lf«-    his  death,  hut    not    l.efore   lie    had    pummelled   (Jaii 
ahout    tin-   head   and   ear-  with   his   !.,»\v.  until   the  Spaniard 
blinded    with    his    l»|oo<i,  and    Minnie.!.  alimM    t<>    peri-hini:.  l-«- 
ii'-ath  his  blows.      The  <r;,l|;U|t  savji^e  had  in  vain  sent  hi-  an 
at  the  mailed  bosom  of  the  ('a-tilian   knight.      In   slayinj;  half  a 

•e  of  S|  aniards  the  red  men  had  lost  hundred-;  but  there  was 
QO  lack  of  numbers  to  take   their  places,  and   they  scarcely  felt 

m 


486 

their  losses.  It  was  nut  so  whh  the  white  warriors,  who  were  too 
few,  not  to  feel  severely  tin-  loss  «,f  such  a  large  proportion  of 
their  whole  disposable  force.  The  result,  whatever  the  inequality 
of  loss,  was  a  temporary  triumph  with  the  Mauvilians.  They 
had  beaten  the  invader  from  their  tartnesses,  and  they  were  $ 
->ion  of  all  the  spoils  of  the  field.  They  had  also  released 
the  eaptive  Tamenes  from  the  ehains  of  their  maMers,  had  put 
weapons  into  their  hands,  and  thus  more  than  made  up  for  the 
number  which  had  been  lost  by  the  battle  to  their  ranks.  K\ult 
ing  in  the  successes  whieh  they  had  won.  the  red  men  closed  their 
gates,  displayed  their  spolia  opima  fK>m  the  walls,  and  running 
to  and  fro  along  the  parapets,  brandished  their  arms  \\ith  exulta 
tion,  while  the  welkin  rang  with  their  wild  shouts  of  triumph  and 
defiance. 

Goaded  with  fury  by  what  they  saw.  the  Spanish  chivalry  with 
out  the  walls,  organizing  themselves,  rapidly  dashed  forward  to 
the  gates  with  the  view  of  assailing  them.  or.  at  lea-t.  for  the  pur 
pose  of  covering  the  foot  soldiers,  who  a- 1 \aiiced  \\ilh  their  axes 
for  this  purpose^.  But  the  brave  Mauvilians — too  valiant,  eager 
and  exulting  to  observe  a  becoming  prudence — never  sutl'ered 
them  to  approach  the  gates,  but  leaping  the  walls  in  hundreds, 
resolutely  took  the  field,  exposing  their  naked  bosoms  fearlessly 
to  the  superior  weapons  of  theCastilians.  A  desperate  conflict  en- 
sued:  the  numbers  and  reckless  valor  of  the  red  men  proving 
quite  a  match  for  the  superior  civili/atior.  of  their  fbcs.  while  the 
struggle  was  confined  to  those  who  fought  entirely  on  foot.  Fierce, 
indeed,  was  the  affray.  Mercy  was  neither  a-ked  nor  expected. 
The  shafts  of  the  savages  answered  to  the  lances  of  the  Spaniards  ; 
the  stone  battle-axe  and  thundering  maeana  did  not  recoil  from 
the  sharp  collision  with  the  polished  blade  of  the  Toledan.  It  was 
only  when  the  cavaliers  of  Spain  dashed  in  to  the  support  of  their 
comrades  that  the  Mauvilians  gave  ground,  and  retreated  to  the 
cover  of  their  fortress.  Thither  the  mounted  men  pur-ued  them. 
but  were  driven  back  by  showers  of'  --tones  and  arrows  from  the 
walls  and  loop-holes  of  th>'  town.  A*  they  wavered  and  recoiled. 
the  Mauvilians  again  sallied  forth,  'losing  with  the  cavalier-,  sei/- 
ing  on  their  very  bridles,  grasping  their  lances,  tearing  them 
from  their  hands,  and  clinging  to  the  retiring  hor-cs  until  dragged 
awav  hundred-  of  pace-  from  the  walls.  Such  a  conflict,  valor  so 
inflexible,  afforded  but  small  encouragement  to  the  hope-  of  thu 
invader,  and  De  Soto  groaned  over  the  tardy  pmgiv—  of  Mos 
coso,  and  the  absence  of  more  than  half  his  little  army. 

In  this  manner  had  they  fmiirlit.  without  decisive  results—  unloss 
(n  favor  of  the  Mauvilian- — for  three  mortal  liuurs,  when  Luis  de 


ISTALANA,     ill!  487 

Moscoso  made  his  a:  with  the  main  l.ody  of  the  Spanish 

an.l  at  o:.  1  in  the  melee.      Hut  with  his  appearance 

in  the  field,  tliat  of  Philip  de  \ 

.1  moment  K-t  us  pause  in  this  place,  to  -ay  that  none  of  the 
Relations  of  this  great  event,  as  given  l»y  the  Spanish  and  1'ortu- 

,  are  to  be  entirely  relied  on.  Thchi-tor\  which  the 

lion  in  of  his  achievements   ha-  \,.\  to  lie  written.      Tin- 

account-  ot'the  white  men  an    j  \  coiifu-ed  ami  contradic 

tors,  lor  tin-  simple  reason  that  they  labored  to  .  •      •••  mod 

ify,  and  even  to  pervert  the  details  whose  results  •  «li>UN- 

Irons  to  tlieir  pr  I.  a-  they  fancied,  in  their  national  pride 

and  vanity,  so  di-creditaMe  to  their  arms.      Now.  <he  reader  will 
please  t<>  understand  thai  our  version  of  the  -tor\  is  drawn  chietlv 
be  narratives  of  the  afativilians  thems<  -ntaiiu-d  in 

eli rated  MSS.  ot'the  (iivat  lawa.  -.r  liinh  I'ricM  ofChiek- 

ia  Ithiopoholla,  who  wore  the  gat  . ->onn- 

al)out  tlie  y.^r  ItJli*.  only  al.oii! 

Tin-  11::  written  on  the  liark  of  trees,  in  the  (  hoetaw  charae- 

ter.aii.l.Ka-  i  ;'esv  injuries  tn»ni  eXjM^un-  and  time  (which  do 

it  ing  to  the  Itattie  of  Mans  i!  •. 

>till  In-  read  in  the  k  lent  ivil  friend  Mi 

kina    Ithiopolla,   a    lineal    de^c-ndaut   of  the   vi-neral»Ie    lawa.  l.y 

hands  it  svas  written.      Our  account  of  the  atlair.  whii-li  sve 
'ly  venture  to  assert   IN  the  only  one     • 

confidence,  ix   <lrawn  almost  entirely  fiom   tiii>  ancient  and  vi-ra- 
eious  chronicle. 

lo   reviiinr   from    i:  - 

\v  had  tlie  hattle  la-ted  three  mortal   hour-,  when  ;r 
an-1  a  larger  army  of  the  Spaniard-,  under  one  of  the;. 

line  Lnis  <le  M.  ide  his  aj'i'earanci-  in  \\i- 

He  had  l.cen  clo-rly  watch, -d  a:id  t'ollowc-l  d  h  from 

Tu>eal«'.,xa  l.y  the  \\  hite  ehief.  to  ss  iii  mi  had  iithe  name 

:iana.  and  «.f  wbO8€  i-ruel    treatment   l,y  th- 
ha[.|)\  help  of  the  great    I'rii: 

rliiiju'.  tdy   related  ti. 

bat     t.rood-^    !,-d   a   fol'C,-  of  Ui! 

.ehiijui,  full   command    osvr  svhom   ha<l    he. n 
given  liim  l.y  the  (ireat    King,      N  >n  as  I>talana 

to   j"in  with  the   troops  un<le* 

the  ( 'a-tiiia!!.  ami  to   ad'.  i<i>t  the  svalls  of  Mauvila 

him  ^uddeiiiy.  svith  a  terrible  a— aiilt  f. .  :.    M.»- 

:hat  he 

W9B9Q  :.      Hut  he  turned  upon  i 

ard  iii.s  men  and  made  good  tight  for  the  \ 


488  VASCONSELOS. 

by  the  men  upon  the  horses  ofSoto,  the  Oastiliun,  and  great  were 
the  deeds  of  arms  that  followed,  and  many  were  the  blows  given 
and  received,  and  glorious  was  the  slaughter.  The  earth  and  sun 
drank  great  streams  of  blood  that  day;  and,  for  that  the  war-, 
riors  of  Mauvila  were  too  brave  to  need  coverings  for  theft' 
breasts  against  the  darts  of  their  enemies,  the  slaughter  fell  most 
heavily  upon  them  ;  while  the  Spaniards,  being  covered  with 
scales  of  hard  metal,  or  wrapped  in  many  folds  of  a  thick  gar 
ment,  which  shook  off  the  shafts  of  the  Mauvila  warriors  when 
delivered  from  a  distance,  they  suffered  less  grievously,  and 
many  were  but  hurt  and  wounded,  when,  but  for  reason  of  their 
armor  of  metal,  they  would  have  died  outright.  But  the  Mau- 
vilians  hurt  and  smote  them  sorely,  and  bruised  them  with  many 
blows,  so  that  none  of  them  utterly  escaped,  while  many  were 
slain  with  shafts  rightly  delivered  between  the  rye*,  ami,  when 
they  chanced  to  turn  their  backs,  with  arrows  that  drove,  through 
the  body  beneath  the  -houlders  and  iv.-ted  against  the  metallic 
in  front.  Hundreds  carried  with  them  grievous  wound* 
in  the  legs  and  thighs,  which  were  less  sheltered  by  armor  ;  and 
wherever  the  warriors  of  Ca-tile  ami  Mauvila  strove  together 
hand  to  hand,  the  one  with  bright  sword  shining  in  the  sun,  the 
other  with  the  heavy  macana,  or  the  thundering  stone  hatchet, 
then  did  the  armor  prove  no  help,  but  rather  a  hurt  to  the  white 
warriors,  and  they  fell  crushed  beneath  the  blows  of  Mauvila,  and 
they  fled  before  the  might  of  her  warrior*.  And  great  was  the 
destruction  of  the  strange  beast  which  they  call  the  horse,  of 
whom  the  Spaniards  took  great  account,  and,  for  which  reason, 
the  warriors  of  Mauvila  smote  and  slew  them  without  sparing. 
Verily,  they  slew  more  than  seventy  of  these  giant  beasts  in  the 
course  of  the  day's  lighting,  sending  the  arrows  right  through 
their  huge  bodies,  so  that  the  feathers  only  lay  hidden  in  the 
bowels  of  the  beast. 

"And  when  the  warriors  within  the  walls  of  Mauvila,  who 
were  commanded  by  the  great  king  himself,  beheld  how  that  the 
Spaniards  were  set  upon  by  the  troops  of  Istalana  from  behind, 
then  did  he  rise  and  cry  aloud : 

"  '  Now  is  the  time  for  ye  to  go  forth,  ye  warriors  of  Mauvila, 
and  all  the  followers  of  the  great  king!  Now  send  ye  up  the 
great  shout  of  war  which  leads  to  victory,  and  get  ye  out  from 
the  fortress  to  the  fight,  while  your  women,  and  the  young 
daughters  of  Mauvila  gather  upon  the  walls  and  cry  to  ye  with 
words  of  love  and  welcome,  and  sing  the  while  *\\.  et  songs  of 
wi/.«ory  urd  very«:;ii:re  !  Now  to  your  arms!  and  go  forth  and 
.ignt  against  the  Spaniards  frcia  the  walls,  while  Istalana,  the 


TRIUMPHAL  >  ILA.  489 

white  warrior,  who  i>  our  general,  deals  death  upon  them  from 
behind  !' 

.•nt  forth,  even  n*  lie  commanded,  with  a  mighty 

p  ..f  victory.  \\hich  -hook  the  earth  and  struck   terror  to  the 

And  the  Spaniards,  \sho  rude  tlie  mighty 

;li.-r,  lik-  the  uar- 

Une  for'h  from  tin-  fort: 

M.l.r  chief  Moscoeo.     And  they  ru-hed  over  many  «-f 

t,iir  :  •  d  they  trampled    them  under  the  iron  hoof-  of  the 

;    1. lit"  the  rc-t  parted  cadi  way  from  l.efore  them, 

!  them  as  they  sped,  delivering  s\\ift  an 

tliat  pi.-r.  ed   the  Wa-t-  to  tl.  -.and    pierced    the   ridei 

rain,  so  that   they  rolled   together  ii:  !|(I    Wltn 

I    upon   tlie  Mricken  earth.      And    e\vn    a-   the  I 
,:ik   down   linieath   their   l>ea^t<.  «.ihcr   bra 
d    hotly  fortli  to  take  their   p  laces,  and  it  gladdened  th«- 
i  :   th,'  mat   king  tliat  .lay,  to  l.ehold  witli  \\hat 
l.rav--   .'i.-d    fur   liis  honor,  and  hi-    country    from    the. 

-.      \\-rily.it    i-   UX5   much   to  tell  ;   for  tl^  ^  ho 

>a\\  could  trulv  n-j'ort  what  glori.ni->  deaths  wt-n-  that  day  i_fi\eii 
;ind   huw  th--  Mood  gushed  frum   the  hig  lieart,  and 

•,•11    out,   and    h'.w 

i  fell  du\vn  at  the  >harj>  |  f  the 

i-r'the  cunning  war:  '  Wle  they 

la\  wounded  beneath  the  h-  i  t€  tliem  suddenly  under  their 

1   then   the    I- 
Arrow  tlie-.  with  a  horrid  M-ivam. 

:illtil     the\ 

d    rolled    Orer   tlieir   rider-,  th.-   chiefs   iu   armor.  \\1. 

lhe\    cru-hed    l..i;cath    tli.-ir    «.\MI    weigh'. 

thu-  slain  the  women  and  th"  maiden-  upon  tli  :   Mauvihi 

Ai.-i  th 

the    Mauviiian    \\liu    hath  >!ain  the 
mighty  l.caM  of  ih 

••  •  li.  Bb  , :;  !„•  named  th     -  '  '    -'iiit?  tliere 

shall  m   for  hi-  bOBOm,  Wltfa  the  picture  of  the  1- 

•   •  And  hi-  name  >hali  r  l»y  the  inaid.ii-  of  Mau- 

vila;   uinl   the    \M,rr'u»rs    BhaU  ''h   a   cry 

.me. 

the  l.lue  mountan 

th-  i  til   hunt  in  the    li 

on   the   l.ndy    of   ti.  .lid     Whcll    he   I'llters    the 

the  <  .  then   vhali  a  \  •    with 

a  cry,  saying,  make  wav   there — gi\  fur  hither 

21* 


4:90  VASCONSKLOS. 

comes  the  warrior  that  hath  slain  tin-  (Jreat  l»ea>t  of  the  Pale 
Faces.' 

"  'Verily,  as  the  Mauvilian  hearkened  to  this  song,  great  was 
the  desire  of  many  to  become  the  slayer  of  tin-  beast  >  which  the 
Spanish  warriors  rode.  Yet  there  were  some  who  sought  rather 
to  take  them  captive  ;  for  wherefore  should  the  warm  -s  of  Mau- 
vila  not  bestride  them,  even  as  tlie  Castilians  J  Hut  the  greater 
number  preferred  to  slay  them,  for  they  knew  not  by  what 
words  to  make  the  beasts  know  their  masters,  and  they  feaivd 
the  danger  from  their  heels,  and  they  wi>t  not  how  to  guide 
them  in  their  flight.  So  they  slew  them,  whenever  they  could, 
save  in  few  oases,  when,  as  was  the  counsel  of  the  chiet  Istalnna, 
they  caught  them  by  their  bridles  after  they  luid  slain  their 
riders,  and  led  them  oil'  into  the  thickets. 

"Now,  Istalana,  the  white  warrior,  himself  had  one  of  tlu-e 
b'-a-ts,  upon  which  lie  made  to  ride  a  strange  boy  who  followed 
him  in  silence — a  creature  black  as  the  great  bear  of  Nolichucky, 
But,  when  the  battle  drew  nigh,  and  when  lie  wa<  about  to  ..»•« 
u[>on  the  troops  of  Moscoso,  he  bade  this  black  boy  take  shelter 
with  the  Princess  Coc,ulla  in  the  thicket,  which  was  at  han<l.  and 
wheiv.  many  harbored  close  unseen.  And  Istalana  raised  him 
self  with  a  single  bound  upon  the'  back  of  this  beast  ;  and  he  had 
strong  thongs  of  bear  skin  with  which  to  guide  him;  and  a  great 
chair  of  bear  skin,  with  horns,  but  without  feet,  was  beneath  him, 
and  upon  the  back  of  the  beast.  And  Istalana  armed  himself 
with  a  long  lance  which  he  had  made,  thrice  as  great  and  heavy 
as  that  borne  by  our  people.  And  he  carried  beside*  8 
battle  axe  of  metal  which  had  been  taken  from  the  Spaniards. 
And,  thus  armed  and  mounted,  he  prepared  to  ride  into  the  bat 
tle  even  as  the  Spaniards  rode.  Hut  fir-t.  he  put  large  bodies 
of  our  warriors  in  ambush,  close  in  the  woods,  but  beside  the 
field  of  battle  ;  and  he  bade  them  not  show  themselves  until  he 
trave  them  command  to  do  so.  And  he  led  but  one  third  of  the 
Mauvilians  into  battle  agaiiM  MOM-O-O.  being  but  a  thousand 
men.  And  t«»  the-e  he  gave  command  that  they  should  greatly 

Scatter  themselves;    that   thi'V    should   shelter  themselves   beneath 

the  trees,  wherever  these  stood,  and  thus  escape  the  wrath  of  the 
mighty  beaMs.  \\hom  they  were  to  transfix  with  their  arrows.  And 
he  taught  them  truly,  moreover,  to  aim  their  darts  only  at  the 
ind  the  thighs  of  the  Spaniard-,  for  'Verily.'  said  he, 
'What  matters  if  \«ni  slay  them  not  outright.  Wound  them 
only,  so  that  they  shall  In-come,  disabled,  and  how  »-a-y  'hen  to 
run  in  and  brain  them  with  the  hatchet  of  stone.'  And,  of  a 
'j-uth,  had  they  followed  thi>  coun>el  of  Istalana,  then  had  not  so 


TJIK    KK1>    r.XVALIKR.  491 

many  great  warri-  '     .vila   fallen  on  tliat  ilay.      Rut  it  was 

,11  the  wildne-s  of  their  valor,  which  sutVeivd  them  to  fear  no 
danger.  that  BO  many  of  them  yielded  their  naked  life  to  the  death 
shall  of  the  Spanianl. 

"Now,  it  D  in  the  moment  when  ti       3  h  warriors 

who  ;  ••  trampling  down  the   brav.-s  of  Mauvila.  striving 

to  keep  them  back  from  the  conflict  which  had  l.e-jun  betw< 

the    '  •'  I-talana   and    MOSCOW),  that  the  chief   I-talana 

red  in  front,  mounted  on  one  of  the  great  bea-t-  of  the  Span 
iards.      Verilv.  tin-  bea-t  was  of  a  beautiful  strength  and  maje- 

te  with  his  ma>ter,  and  he  was  called   Bajardo. 

And    when    the   Spaniards  beheld   the    beast  —  though   they  1; 

nothing  of  th.-  great  chief  btalana.  (ti»r  he  was  no   longer  of  the 

pale  -iekly  color  of  the  white  men.  hut  had  been    made    comely 

by  the  war  paint  of  the  Mauvilians.  and  h  '  he 

birds  of  Mauvila  and   Apalaehia,  and  a  robe  ofl'  salVron-cotton  ol 

our  people,  and  upon   his  shoulders  a  rich  robe  of  fur  which  the 

!:  Kiniz  had  givi-n  him  when  he  made  him  a  chief,1  —  when,  I 

iards  brheld    tlie    bea>t.  they    siid    one  to  anotlu-r, 

•  U  not    that    Bajanlo.  the  hor-e  which  was  ridden  of  old  by  the 

.hian.  the  Pa-e  of  the   kniizbt  of  rortu-ul  ]'       And 

they  answered,  '  Verily,  it  doth  -eem  so.      Yet  hath  he  loiiiz  • 


•  they  saw  nothing  of  the  Uhu-kamoor.  and  they  knew  not 
the  kniu'ht  of  Portnizal.  in  the  ,-o-tume  and  tlie  war  paint  of  the 
IB.      And  the  kniirht  of  Portugal,  now  the  chief  Istalana, 
•h   to\var«U   tin-    warriors  of  Spain,   evm   to   \\  ': 
.  making  irn-at    sho\v  al'ove  the  rot,  the  chief  S 

,-ral    and  >rrior.      And  Soto   and   - 

riors   marvelled    much   when  they  -aw  a  red  warrior  of  Mauvila 

-allantly    riding    toward-   them;    and    they    wonder. 
\\hen    th.-y'-aw    him   -hake   out    his   hmce  in  detiai. 

.  him-elf.    and,  in  the   manner  of  the  pale 
thu-  to  bid  him  come  t<  ':   '         iwl  ' 

.  :m.l  they  said.    •  I. 
i-uni-h  this  in-  .lent  savage  ;'  l>ut  S 
It   is  fop  me  to  punish  his  i; 
i    little  ahead  of  th 
said  to  the  Mauvilians  — 

back  all,  and  leave  Soto,  of  '  >  me.    On' 

•hat  other-  come    not  If  I  slay  him.  or  ye  se. 

•  :-thro\\u.  then   fall  h'erc.-U   upon    tl  that   follow   him; 

and  r  tin-  thi- 

44  And  the  warriors  of  Mauvila  fell  back.     And  Istalana  pre 


492  VASCONSELOS. 

pared  himself  for  Soto,  though  he  carried  no  weapon  but  the 
heavy  lance,  and  the  great  axe  of  metal,  such  as  the  Spaniards 
bore.  And  he  had  no  armor  upon  his  limbs,  and  he  wore  no 
buckler  upon  his  arm.  And  he  went  unafraid  to  the  encounter 
with  Soto,  of  Castile.  And  Soto  came  on  briskly,  with  his  lance 
couched  for  the  encounter,  and  he  little  wist  of  the  enemy  who 
stood  before  him  ;  and  knew  not  but  that  it  was  a  brave  native 
warrior  of  Mauvila  ;  for  he  saw  that  they  were  a  people  the  most 
daring  of  all  the  world,  who  were  willing  to  fight  with  any  foe,  an«l 
with  any  weapons,  or  according  to  any  fashion.  And  knowing 
this,  Soto  said  within  himself — 

" '  Now,  verily,  these  warriors  of  Mauvila  have  a  world  of 
impudence.  Here  is  a  savage  that  hath  gotten  him  a  beast 
which  he  knows  not  how  to  manage,  yet  would  he  undertake 
the  warfare  with  me  after  my  own  fashion.  Yet,  in  sooth,  he 
keeps  his  seat  with  a  tolerable  grace  and  steadiness,  and  with 
proper  teaching  might  be  rendered  a  right  comely  and  formida 
ble  cavalier.  Yet  shall  I  have  to  punish  him  with  a  death  thrust, 
that  I  may  rebuke  the  overweening  presumption  of  his  people. ' 

"And  so  thinking  and  speaking  to  himself,  Soto,  the  Tamil 
ian,  spurred  his  beast  forward  to  the  meeting  with  Istalana,  who, 
nothing  loth,  or  slow,  made  his  beast  go  to  meet  him,  with  a 
great  rushing.  And  the  two  leveled  their  long  lances,  and 
there  was  a  great  cloud  that  wrapt  them;  and  lo,  when  the  cloud 
lifted,  there  could  be  seen  Soto,  the  cavalier,  falling  upon  the 
ground,  and  Istalana  wheeling  his  great  beast  backward,  and 
making  towards  Soto,  with  his  lance  ready  to  do  him  to  death 
with  a  thrust." 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

'Tom  thou  the  mouth  of  thy  artillery 
Against  these  saucy  walls."  Kjya  Jo«n. 

WB  have  given  a  sufficient  specimen  of  our  Chen-taw  chronicler 
for  a  while.  Relying  on  his  authority  as  heretofore,  we  shall  vet 
forego  the  stately  simplicity,  and  the  quaint  solemnity  of  his  style, 
as  far  as  possible  in  the  future,  and  trust  to  that  which  is  m<>iv 
natural  to  ourselves  and  readers.  We  need  repeat,  after  this 
pie  of  our  authority,  that  his  account  is  the  most  trustworthy 
of  all  the  parties;  and  our  materials  will  show  that  he  supp.' 
thousand  deficiencies,  in  the  details,  which  the  vexed  vanity  of  the 
Spanish  invaders  would  never  allow  them  to  put  on  record. 
We  proceed  now  to  our  history. 

The  fall  of  De  Soto  occasioned  naturally  a  tremendous 
tion.  The  wild  exultation  of  the  red  men  rang  throughout  the 
field  as  for  a  victory  already  gained,  and  a  most  unexpected  tri 
umph  rendered  certain.  The  Adelantado  of  the  Spaniards  was 
considered  by  the  simple  natives  in  the  light  somewhat  of  a 
man — a  demi-god,  who  was  in  some  degree  invincible,  or  like 
Achilles,  only  vulnerable  in  some  small  region  not  easily  reach. -d 
by  dart  or  tomahawk.  They  were  now  dk-il.ii-ed  of  this  super 
stition,  and  their  spirits  rose  in  consequence  to  the  highest  pitch 
of  hope  and  enthusiasm.  They  knew  not  but  that  he  was  al 
ready  slain  ;  at  least,  he  was  in  the  power  of  their  champion  ;  that 
icd  certain,  and  a  single  stroke  of  the  terrible  lance  which 
Vasconselos  carried  was  alone  needed  tor  the  coup  de  grace. 
Ntalana,  now  doubly  glorious,  and  a  favorite  in  their  med 

prepared    to   satisfy  their   expectation*       Wheeling   about 
turn  to  th.-   Charge,  III-    lance  was  coueh.-d.  and  the  vulture,  • 
missioned  by  the  fates  for  hi-  destruction,  already  threatened   I  K- 
with  the  consummation  of  his  d<> 

Hut    the  Spanish  chivalry  were  not    prepared  to  suffer  th. 
<jiieror  to  complete   his  work  of  vengeaiic.-.      Tli.-v  had 
fall  of  th.-ir  governor;  and.  with  a  mixed  howl  and  shout,  th. 
lant  cavaliers  who  had  attended  him,  an. 1  who  had  oiilv  r< 

a  short  distance  tn>m  .  of  the  pa  tween  hin 

and  Istalana.  now  da-h.-d  forward  to  his  rescue.       I  m-t 

in  season.     Our  Portuguese    Mauvilian   was  already   upon"  hi < 


494  VASCONSELOS. 

enemy.     De  Soto  who  had  succeeded  in  recovering  his  feet,  had 
drawn  his  sword,  and  was  ready  to  defend  himself. 

"  Hernan  de  Soto,"  cried  Vasconselos,  to  the  complete  aston 
ishment  of  his  opponent,  "thy  hour  is  come!  The  doom  for  thee 
is  written  !  Thou  .shalt  die  beneath  the  hand  and  curse  of  the 
man  thou  hast  basely  dishonored  !" 

lie  knew  the  voice.     He  could  no  longer  doubt  the  person. 

"  Philip  de  Vasconselos !" 

"  Ay  !  and  thy  fate !     Prepare  thee !" 

"  I  fear  thee  not,  renegade  and  traitor !" 

"  Ha  !  thou  shalt  feel  me  !" 

And  the  lance  was  couched  at  his  breast.  De  Soto  raised  his 
sword  in  defence.  Philip  would  have  sprung  from  his  steed  and 
encountered  him  on  more  equal  footing  with  the  battle-axe,  but 
just  then  the  rush  behind  him  required  him  to  guard  himself. 
The  Spanish  knights  were  upon  him.  There  were  Nuno  de  To- 
bar,  and  Baltha/ar  de  Gallegos,  and  many  others.  Philip  gave 
the  rowels  to  Bajardo.  He  dashed  through  the  thick  array. 
Gonzalo  de  Sylvestre  was  rolled  over  upon  the  earth;  Alonzo  de 
Piftos  was  reached  by  the  lance  which  failed  to  slay  him,  but 
knocked  out  several  of  his  front  teeth,  and  greatly  disfiguring  his 
mouth,  spoiled  the  prettiest  face  in  the  army.  Others  were 
handled  only  less  roughly,  and  thundering  through  them  as  the 
great  buffalo  thunders  through  a  forest  of  prairie  dogs,  the  won 
derful  cavalier  of  the  red  men  broke  away  from  the  network  of 
foes  which  for  a  moment  seemed  to  threaten  him  with  captivity 
or  death.  His  forest  followers  were  not  idle.  The  warriors  of 
Mauvila  launched  themselves,  with  desperate  valor,  into  the 
thickest  of  the  wild  array,  and  the  battle,  with  all  its  terrors,  \vas 
resumed  on  every  side. 

It  raged  with  no  abatement  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  with 
no  seeming  change  of  fortune.  Many  of  tin-  Spaniards  perished  ; 
many  of  their  hois.--.  Hardly  one  escaped  without  wounds; 
but  the  naked^red  men  suffered  death,  and  not  vounds,  \vith  c\ 
hurt.  More  than  a  thousand  had  perished  in  the  strife,  when 
Istalana.  whose  plans  had  been  wholly  baflle.l  by  the  impatient 
pride  and  haughty  valor  of  Tusealiwa  and  his  general,  succeeded 
in  drawing  off  a  portion  of  his  forces  to  the  shelter  of  the  forest, 
into  recesses  where  the  horses  could  not  pursue,  and  whence  tin- 
arrow  could  be  shot  with  unerring  and  unexpected  aim.  The 
red  men  disappeared  almost  in  the  twinkling  of  eye,  leaving  the 
field  -tn-wn  with  their  bodies. 

CogalJa  was  the.  fir>t    to  Deceive  Vasconselos.      But  whc: 
Juan]     Philip  looked  about  him  with  inquiry.     The  page  was 


I'A.-s/AtJES.  495 

behind  him  ea  T\  '..  .:  d   arrow-,  and  w;:  i  with  the 

du-t  and  hi.M.d  of  the  fu-lil. 

"Ah!  boy;  and  I  bade  theenot?"  said  V  a  ivr.roach- 

fully. 

"  1  >aw  them  as  they  surrounded  thee,  Seflor,  and  I  could  no 
longer  remain  ;. 

p   -miled   >ad!y   on   the  Moor.     But  when    he    looked  a 
'"\  time  01  too  had  1,  «i  the 

/lunate  than  .Juan, 

had    been  \vmi::ded  in  the  arm       Oh  !    w! 
of  that   young  attendant  when   he   beheld 

beautiful   arm   of  Cocalla    into   his   hands  and   <-aivfuiiy    hei|>  to 
.    .ip  the  still  bleeding  limb.      The  hurt  was  fortunately  slight. 
;:  wa-  a  \\.mnd  received  in  his  defeiiee  ;   and.  mmv  fortn 
Mill.  Ml   arrow  from   her  bow  that   stuck   in    the   thijih  of 

\\.     goto    him-elf,  giving   a    painful    wound,  which   would    1 
driven   from    the   Held   that    day  any  cavalier  <»f  merely  ordinary 

ver.  that 

hurt      1!  .y  his  riding,  though  he  kne\\ 

the   nature   of  the   wound.      Little  did    he  dream  what   hand   had 
the  shaft.     When  he  did  know,  whe'i  he  eoiieeiv.-d  fuliv  that 
and  princess  had  b«.;h  gone   i\>r\}\  to  liis  roeiie  the  moirieiit 
that    they  beheld   his   peril,  the   heart    of  the    melancholy   k; 
was  very  full.      \,,  .  .uh.-red    in  his   eyes.      I Ie  had  forgot 

ten   how  to  w.-.-p;   but    iieverdid  ey.  -u'-h   tender  emo 

tions;   and    he   looked   from  .Juan  "to  (Walla,  and    he   took   the 
of  the  prinerss  and    ki--ed    it.  while  he  drew  the   trembling 
to  his  bo-. MH.  and  -aid  to  him  fondly — 
"Boy,    thou    shall    evermore    be    brother    to   me.      I   ha 
ntht-r  brother  now  but  tln-e."1 

Andre^  de  Vasoonselofl  had  been  one  of  the  cavaliers  whose 
rank-  that  day  he  had  BO  li.-iv.-ly  broken  through,  liut  he  had 
rai-ed  no  !ain-«-  ajrainM  that  youn^  kiiiMnan'>  boom. 

-Juan   trembled    with  t«-rril>le  *-    lotions  a-,  for    the   first   time, 
he  was   strained    M>  warmly  to   the    biva-t    of  }\\<   lord.      II,-   folt 
that    the    heart    within   him  was   like   a   molten   sea — all   fire,   all 
tear-,  scalding  ami   Mreaminir.  but    ready  all    the  while    | 
through  all    b.  1    be  pmin-.l  out    like  water  on   the  -ands. 

But    the  teiiderne-  .1  mom,  nt    only,  and    even  while  the 

ht   >traine«l    the    M.-.-ri-h   page   to    hi-   bo-om.    the    Prh, 
Co<jal!a    interj)o-ed.  and    laid    her   hand    fir-t.  and    then    her  ii 
\ipon  hi-  shoulder,  and  said  in  the  nx-t  melting  manner — 
'  -Ah!   i'hilip!     Ah'  braye  Philip." 
But,  just  then,  Juan  eri.-d  out  with  a  change  of  feeling  : — 


496  v.\  os 

"Oh!  Senor,  thou  art  wounded." 

The  red  stain  was  apparent  through  the  *hite  cotton  of  n« 
vest.  The  garments  were  sticking  to  the  wound  upon  his 
bosom. 

"  Let  it  remain,"  said  Philip,  as  page  and  princess,  now  both 
excited  with  fear,  proposed  to  attend  the  hurt. 

"  Let  it  remain.     It  is  nothing,  and  now  bleeds  no  longer." 

It  was  but  a  flesh-wound  made  by  the  partly  spent  shaft  from 
a  cross-bow.  He  had  pulled  out  the  arrow  during  the  fight,  and, 
pressing  the  garments  upon  the  wound,  hail  succeeded  in  stop 
ping  the  flow  of  blood.  There  was  no  time  now  for  surgerv. 
The  Spaniards  had  renewed  the  action,  and  Istalana  was  required 
to  go  forth  again. 

Furious  with  the  sanguinary  courage  of  the  Mauvilians.  QOQ- 
M-ious  of  the  peril  which  awaited  his  own  and  the  fortunes  of  his 
army,  and  mortified  deeply  with  the  disgrace  of  his  overthrow  in 
the  sight  of  foes  and  followers.  Ilcrnaii  de  Soto  only  delayed  the 
action  long  enough  to  enable  his  followers  to  recover  from  ex 
haustion.  It  was  necessary  to  obtain  po-sr^ion  of  the  town. 
There  his  people  would  find  shelter  and  provisions,  both  of  which 
they  began  to  need.  There  had  the  red  men  stored  their  supplies 
for  the  winter.  Several  of  the  houses  were-  great  granaries  of 
maize,  beans,  and  potatoes.  There,  too,  were  their  great  armo 
ries — arrows,  arrow-bolts,  and  macanas.  darts,  and  stone  hatchets. 
To  possess  himself  of  these,  was  to  supply  his  own  soldiers,  and 
greatly  to  impoverish  and  enfeeble  the  red  men.  There,  too. 
ulting  in  his  savage  pride  and  power,  was  the  hateful  and  insolent 
Tuscaluza,  the  only  cassi<me  among  the  native  princes  who  had 
ever  shown  himself  really  formidable  to  the  Spaniard!  in  Apa- 
lachia,  up  to  the  present  moment.  All  his  passions  and  all  his 
reflections  conspired  to  goad  him  to  the  most  desperate  efforts  to 
make  his  way  into  the  fortress  «.f  Maiivila.  To  remain  without, 
exposed  to  the  perpetual  assaults  of  thousands  of  enemies,  spring 
ing  up  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  melting  away  as  suddenly 
into  their  great  forest  shelters,  was  a  prospect  that  threatened 
nothing  short  of  ruin. 

Hut  it  was  necessary  to  plan  the  attack  upon  the  fortress  with 
a  due  regard  to  the  thousands  who  guarded  it,  and  of  the  other 
thousands  who  swarmed  throughout  the  forests  in  his  rear.  The 
latter,  too,  were  led  by  one  who  knew  equally  well  what  was  pro 
per  to  the  warfare  of  the  red  men  and  the  Sp.-miards.  Hitter  and 
savage  were  the  moods  whVh  po->e>-ed  Ue  Soto  as  he  thought 
of  Philip  de  Vasconselos. 


"ONCE  MOKE  UNTO  THE  BREACH."      497 

"And  1  have   fallen  beneath   his   lance   th!-  ;'.•!,  l>ut    for 

my   followers.    I    had    been    >lain    by  the  very  man    whom    I    had 

di-honor  and  left  (o  d< 

I!  -    gloomy    inn-;  interrupted    by    the    entrance  of 

.:•  and  Andiv>    de  VasCOH- 

.iinong   tlu-iii.      lit-  Wta   about  to  declare    •  :  •   which 

•:tat  of  tlu-  identity  of  tin-  red  warrior  I-tala- 

na  with  the  outlawed  knight  of  Portugal.      But   the  -%ht  of  An* 

.!!«!  the  r.  •  innate  intimacy  be- 

>ar  and  Philip,  led  him  to  a  prudent  - 

•  !      Let  them  once  know 

that    Philip  lives,  and    that   this  is  In — reinembt  :  •  hat  he 

hath    been   wrongly    doomed  —  and    will    they   strive   ><>  bl 
Miiainst  him  ?    will  tl.  vathi-r  this   l.n>:h«T  of  his.  strive  in 

half?      Max    h"    DOt    Lr<>    over  to    him?      May  he  not    carry 

In  the  moment  r,  who  i-Vm^  to  an  old  i 

What    numi»er>  wii.  ;  he    mommt    to    j«a^s   into  the 

eml-raci-s  «.t*tlu-  MICCC— ful  party?     And  know  we  not  that  many 
to  dn>f>  away  upon   the   m;ireh,  and  wiving 

with   n  %  "men  to  ar..w  to  JM.WIT   amotii:   thetril»«-»? 

No!   no!      1  mii>t  hu>h  and    hide  Una  damnable   di>eo\er. 
in  tin-  la-art,  where  it  only  \\orks  to  torture." 

Su.-h  w»-re  ;he  brief,  hurried,  and  natural,  but  un-poken  thoughts 

which  to  the   Adi-Iantado.  when    he  behel.l    hi>  knights 

their  Qfden.      1  )•    9  .!.!  not  throw  ..H'  the 

••m   that  i  iiis  -on!  and    filled  his  countenance, 

but  i  [ty. 

"  \Vell.    -     f,  It     is    tir  UN    now    to 

\sith  all  our  >oul  and  ?ti\-n^th.  to 

tile  ntti-Mii-  •    thi-  da\  .  We  IiiuM 

ler   lortn--..      It'  w.-   fail.  <'iir  da\    i 

i   h«-eil    me,  all   ?       While    this    -mi     !a-l-  \\e   mu-t     eoli.jUi-r 

wn.  and    hold  it  in  .      V..nd«-r   !•  .ml   lie 

shuddered    as  he    |iointi-d    to   them      •' i  thousand    eiie- 

•  i!  and  hating  us,  without  pity  or  alli-etioii;   with  num- 

•  !ioi;r!y  i:  .iirirn:  in  •  the  vultures 

thronir  ab"ut  li.  I  .•  •   BI  _     tl.rih." 

>n  in  fui.  .1    in  the  field.      I). 

:  his  plan,.      li 
ter    portion  of  his   cavali.-rs    f -r    :; 

i    th»-  fort iwx.      '!';, 
larly  re^-ryed.  the  b,-tter  to  avoid 
the  trails.     The\ 


498  VASCONSELOS. 

plain  in  which  the  steed  can  ex. -r.-ise  the  chief  faculty,  that  of 
fleetness,  which  confers  upon  him  his  peculiar  use-  in  war. 

The  battle  was  resumed.      Tuscaluza  and  his  warriors  prepared 
for  the  Spaniards  along  the  walls.      I.»ta!ana  led  forth  his  troops 
from  the  forest,  and  against  their  rear.      IK-  wa-  eiicnunteivd  bv 
the  picked  chivalry  of  De  Soto  which,  in  separate  bodies  of  ten 
men  each,  occupied  the  {'lain  in  their  front,  and.  ca-ed  in  armor — 
all  the  vital  parts  protected   except    the  eyes      «tl'en  d  but  small 
marks  for  the  archery  of  the  red  men.  while   in  their  sue, 
charges  they  swept  down   hundreds     Tin-  hor>e  was  more  vul 
nerable,  however,  though  >ome   pains  had   been   taken  to  i 
him  in  the  more  exposed  and  sensitive  regions  «>fhi>  body.      Kta- 
lana,  or,  as  we  shall  henceforth  prefer  to  call  him.  \ 
aimed  at  two  objects — to  bring  his  troops,  onlv  a-   archers,  into 
full  play,  and  at  the  same  time  to  cover  them  a-  mueli  a- 
ble  with  the  trees  of  the  fmv>t  from  the  sweeping  charges  of  the 
hoi-semen.      But,  if  he   kept   the   eo\vr  of  the    foiv>t  \\holly.  lie 
failed  to  reach  the  cavalry  with   his  arrows,  the  plain  being  of 
such    extent;    and   not  to  drive   them    from    it.  was   to   leave  the 
garrison  without  succor,  or  diversion,  to  endure  the  whole  weight 
of  De  Soto's  assault.      lie  accordingly  prepared  to  throw  a  body 
of  live-  hundred   active  warriors,  good  with  spear  and    battle  axe 
between  tlie  detachment  of  cavalry  in  front  of  him  and  the  forces 
with  which  De  Soto  assailed  the  \\  alK  while  the  n- 1  of  his  troops, 
covered  as  miK-i.  ible  by  the  forest,  kept    the  horse  in  full 

employment  with  their  arrows,  He.  himself,  on  foot,  prepared 
to  lead  his  -pear-m''ii  into  the  thickest  of  the  light,  and  between 
the  two  divisions  of  tin-  Si.-nMi  army. 

"And  now,"  saith  our  old  Clioctaw  chronicler,  ''tin-  glorious 
fight  began  once  more,  \\ith  a  shock  as  of  many  thunderbolts 
And  Soto,  of  Castile,  led  his  great  men  close  up  against  the 
walls  of  Maiivila:  and  th-  un-at  king  coiilVonted  him  then-  with 
a  terrible  flight  of  arrows;  and  with  heavy  stones  he  drove  him 
back  from  the  fortiv--.  And  when  Soto.  of  Castile.  wa-  thus 
driven  back,  he  fell  upon  the  warriors  of  tin-  great  chief  I-ta- 
lana.  and  very  terrible  was  the  battle  that  ensued  between  these 
mighty  men  of  war.  But.  though  many  of  the  Spaniard-  were 
slain  and  more  hurt,  yet,  by  rea-on  of  the  armor  of  toiign  metal 
which  they  wore,  many  ex-aped,  who  else  had  been  done  to 
death,  by  the  valiant  strokes  of  Istalana  and  his  spearmen.  These, 
on  the  other  hand,  being  all  men  of  naked  valor,  wen-  sore 
stricken  by  the  Spanish  bolts  and  darts;  and  the  \\i-c  chieftain, 
Istalana,  when  that  he  beheld  how  the  battle  went  against  his 


MANY    \VKKK    SI,,  499 

people,  !  'hem   cunningly    away  from  between  the  ranks 

of  tM  Spaniards,  and   ;  Iter  for  I 

\llil    I>e  Soto.     i»t'    ( 

\vilh  the  i.Mvat  kini:  au'ain-t  tin-  walk- of  Mauvila.  and  hi-  a\e-men 

hou^di  tin-  \valis,  ami  to  beat  down  ti,  :  the 

fortie.--;    anda-eci>iid  t ime  were  tin- v  dri\  /ten, 

'.vcivd    from  tin-    !< 

again     did    the    l»n%  e    I-talana    givt-    battle    to    tl.  .:in^ 

Spaniard-,  and  to  th.^r  \vli«.  t'ciinh'  I'nun  tlu-  l>a<-k-  «.t'  tii 

And    thi-  liattK-  went    now  om-  way.  and    now  the  Ol 

i-on,  lu-ithrr    party  j.rrvaiu-d    in   tlu-    i-onflict.      iiut 

th.-   l»low>  ot'  blood  which  « 

i  en  ln.fh  Bidea  ani"!!'_r  tin-  chanijii'-ns.      And,  ariion^r  the 

ivila,  tht-:  jhti-r.      Many  i-assiques 

:iu-  prri-hr.l    in  valiant    anonit-s.  cryiiiu   to  tlu-  >\<cn 

th«-  Klur  inan>i«'iis  in  the   h:ij>py  vallry.  and  to  -did  l'..r  them  tlie 

Jit  maidt •:.  ,sl  to  «jue!i«-h  the  i. 

1   sj.irit.  first 

to  tail.  liaviiiLi  slain    many  fo---.      Th.-n   Chinalu-.-  Him.. 
up   tin-   uhovt.  wrai-inir    more    than    thirty    scalp   lock-   upon  arm 
and   ihinh:     and    •  many  more,  brave    like   the-c.  who 

j  of  the  la^t  iii:iit.     An.l  mai  real 

<'hi«--  .  l.-k.-nanil  bort  in  the  fighting  of  this  da/,     l-.Jana, 

•  .-hicf  hiniM-lf.  was  -trick-'ii  twice,  but  he  said  nuthii.. 
his   hurts,  whib-   he   ^ave   death   to  oth.-r    men   to  drink 
'  the  will  of  him  \\ ho  hath  no  thiiM. 

ly  t.»  the  chiefs  of  Mauvila  that  the  hur 

the  death  n          rea    The  (in-at  ("hi.-f  of  th,.  g 

'.ie.  felt  t^ie  warp  arrows  in  his  thigh  and  side ;  but  he  was  not 

.      The  l\:i._r  pp. ph.-;  of  tin-  pale  :  -cor.'d  with  a  f\y 

.  like  a  coward,  in  the    back.       Hut    he    lived,    that    ; 

might  aajr,  thk is  the   mark  rhofled     And  th. 

goodly  \outh.  a  kin-man   of 

throat  the   UTOW  : 
I      ;    many  were  the  \s    : 

for  whom  they  made    bitier    mnanin^  that    ui^jlit    in    the  .  amp  of 
I 
the  truth  demand-   that    I    d  .  the   thir  i 

•he  wan 

.        A'.  1     thej    ;  PI  •>   ;'   •    i     :  •;.    | 
' 

Nsn<T''  n'  ftbe  fortress. 

And  when  the 

the)'  ^-nt  u[>  a  mighty  n,  \sith  t- 


500  VASCOXSELOS. 

spread  it  along  the  walls  and  through  the  town,  that  the  Great 
King  was  slain,  even  Tt:scaluza;  but,  of  a  truth,  it  was  IK.- 
Grievous  was  his  hurt,  and  glorious,  since  it  was  made  upon  his 
open  breast,  in  full  front,  and  even  in  the  moment  when,  with  his 
mighty  stone-hatchet,  he  elove  the  brain  of  a  great  warrior  of 
the  Spaniards.  But,  nevertheless,  men  thought  him  slain;  and 
when  his  people  bore  him  away  from '.he  irate  to  a  place  of  safety 
without  the  walls,  and  into  the  forests  on  the  other  *idi — as  wa> 
counselled  by  the  prophet — then  the  women  lamented,  and  the 
foolish  warriors  broke  their  weapons  and  fled  from  the  walls 
which  they  were  bade  to  defend,  and  went  hither  and  thither,  not 
knowing  what  to  do;  and,  by  reason  of  this  folly,  the  followers 
of  Soto,  of  Castile,  broke  their  way  through  the  walls,  and  ! 
down  the  gates,  and  their  great  captains,  on  their  mighty  bea-ts. 
rode  headlong  through  the  streets  of  Mauvila,  smiting  as  they 
went.  Then  was  it  too  late,  when  our  warriors  hastily  caught  up 
their  arms,  and  renewed  the  fight. 

"  And  the  women  of  Mauvila  strove,  too,  in  the  ranks  of  battle, 
and  very  great  and  glorious  was  the  slaughter.  But  the 
Spaniards  prevailed  in  battle  against  our  people,  and  when  this 
was  beheld  by  the  brave  women  of  Mauvila,  they  sei/ed  bright 
torches  of  the  living  flame.  And  they  gave  it  wings;  and  they 
sent  it  from  housetop  to  housetop;  and  they  hid  it  away  in  the 
hearts  of  the  houses.  And  where  they  had  their  husbands  slain, 
they  flung  themselves  into  the  burning  houses,  and  they  wel 
comed  the  coming  of  the  Spaniards  with  arms  of  (lame,  waving 
them  on,  as  they  passed  over  the  walls  and  through  the  gales 
with  songs  of  triumph  and  defiance,  It  was  a  day  of  rich 
blood.  And  the  people  of  Mauvila  left  for  the  Spaniards  only  a 
f«-ast  of  famine,  and  music  of  agony  and  groans,  with  a  raging 
fire  to  quench  the  thirst  which  they  knew,  from  eating  at  Mich  a 
banquet.  The  brave  Tuscaluza,  the  son  of  the  (Ireat  King,  was 
slain;  but  the  Great  King  himself  was  mad.-  safe  in  the  big 
forests  lying  toward  Chickasah.  Thither  came  also  the  mighty 
chief  Malaria,  who  had  grevious  hurts  upon  his  brea-t.  upon  his 
(ace,  upon  his  arms  and  side.  Sorely  was  he  stricken;  and 
they  brought  him  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  Tamenes  toward 
('hii-kasah,  and  the  princess  Cocalla,  of  Cofachiqui,  tended  him, 
while  he  lay  hurt,  and  the  strange  black  page,  Juan,  watched  be 
side  hnn  nightly  when  he  slept." 


CHAPTER  XLVIIL 

"  He  bear* 
A  tampeM  wkich  his  mortal  veMel  tear*. 

PBUCIJR. 

SUCH  was  the  terrible  battle  of  Muuvila.     The  Spaniards  had 

obtained   tlif  victory.      They  had    won    the  chief  fortified   eit 
the  Mauvilians.      They  had  expelled  tlu-  inhabitants  or  •!«•-•  r"\  -  d 
them.     Thousands  of  the  redmen   had    peri-h-  10  many, 

by  thousands,  as  the  conquerors  claim  to  have  d  ,  but  still 

the    havoc   had    been    terrible,  ai.d  tin-  victims  \\vre  live  time- 
numerous  as  the  whole  army  of  De  Soto.     The  rash  valor  of  the 
Mauvilians,  their   naked  bo-..ins.  the    superiority  of  the  Spani>h 
anus  and  armor,  had  naturally  rendered  the  defeat  a  massac 

But  the  triumph  of  the  invaders  was  dashed  by  their  own 
terrible  losses, and  I  )e  So*to  lamented  his  vietory  in  the  language  ot 
I'yrrhus.  Nay,  it  did  not  require  siu-h  another  vietory  to  leave 
the  Tamilian  conqueror  undone.  lie  \va-  already  undone,  and 
he  felt  it.  The  gloom  of  despair  was  on  his  soul.  Hi-  face  wore 
a  perpetual  scowl.  His  language  was  harsh  to  all  when  he 
sj.oke.  He  was  no  longer  the  confident,  frank,  impulsive  cava 
lier,  who  could  sweetly  smile  upon  hi-  friends,  and  who  bore  in 
his  bosom  an  exulting  hope  and  consciousness  of  desert,  which 
filled  all  who  beheld  \sith  unvaiVmu  auguries  of  niCOeet,  He 
•.  ap'.  Mi-pieioii-  ;  di-tnMtul  of  frinids  and  for 
tune;  wish  the  m<-rtif\  inu  conviction  that  he  had  not  only  failed, 
in  i.  >pe-  which  had  in-piivd  his  enterprise,  luit  donmed 

•her  failures,  involving  fame  as  well  as    fortune;   perilou- 
life  as  to  success.      He  thought  of  tin-  noble  woman,  his  \\ife,  K-tl 
behind  him  in  the  Government  of  Cuba,  and  bitterly  reinemb 
tha*  her  and  himself  rolled   the  great  sea,  and  bi-tv. 

that  sea  and    his  warriors,  spread    hundreds  of  miles  of  imj 
tra:  :y  thicket  of  \\hich    harbored    its   ho-(s    (,f  im- 

!  condition  n,.  the  gloom 

!  within  his  soul.      \  •  -h-  d 

was  tion  of  the  Spaniards  alter   the    battle   of  Mauvila. 

More  than  two   hundred  of  them    had    Keen    -lain  rs  de 

cvmbat.      Scarcely  a  man  had  H  unhurt.      1  '• 

Ml 


502  VASCONSELOS. 

himself  was  thrice  wounded,  and  though  not,  in  either  instance, 
severely,  yet  the  hurts  were  of  a  sort  to  goad,  to  mortify  hi.s 
passions,  and  to  vex  his  pride.  We  have  seen,  what  were  his 
personal  humiliations  also.  But  he  was  not  allowed  to  brood  mi 
them.  The  condition  of  his  army  demanded  all  his  thoughts. 
His  soldiers,  covered  with  wounds,  were  attended  by  a  single 
surgeon,  and  he  was  at  once,  slow  and  unskilful.  Ther< 
neither  lint,  nor  linen,  nor  liniments;  neither  medicines  nor 
bandages;  neither  ointments  nor  instruments;  not  even  elothii:i: 
and  shelter.  The  fires  of  the  wild  Mauvilians  had  consumed  all 
the  sforesof  commissary  and  surgeon — all  the  food  and  pint 
ail  that  was  needful  for  the  hralthy.no  less  than  the  sutlering  and 
sick.  The  dwellings  were  all  consumed,  and  but  a  j 
was  found  in  the  miserable  tents  <>f  boughs  and  branches,  whirh 
could  be  raised  by  the  feeble  etVorts  of  the  least  wounded  among 
the  Spaniards.  For  bandaging  wounds,  they  tore  the  shirts  fn.m 
their  backs;  to  procure  unguents  for  the  hurt,  the  slain  Indians 
were  torn  open,  and  the  fat  taken  from  their  bodies  ;  the  slain 
horses  were  cut  up  and  their  flesh  preserved,  for  sustenance  for 
all.  Even  their  devotions  were  interrupted,  in  the  loss  of  the 
wine  and  wheaten  flour  which  they  had  used  in  the  performance 
of  the  mass;  and  to  the  superstitious,  the  question  became  one  of 
«erious  importance,  whether  bread  of  Indian  meal  might  be  em 
ployed  for  the  sacrament, — a  question  gravely  discussed  among 
them,  and  terminating  in  the  unfavorable  resolve,  that  it  wa<  not 
tolerated  by  the  canons  of  the  church.  When  to  the  real  physical 
miseries  of  their  situation,  we  add  those  of  their  spiritual  hunger. 
we  may  conjecture  the  terrible  gloom  which  overspread  the  en 
campment  of  the  Spaniards. 

This  gloom  of  his  followers  was  naturally  of  deeper  and  darker 
complexion  in  the  soul  of  DeSoto,  than  it  was  among  his  people. 
His  had  been  the  loftie>t  ambition,  the  most  exulting  hope.  His 
pride,  and  station,  and  responsibility,  were  greater  than  all  the 
rest  He  was  proportionately  overwhelmed  in  the  common  catas- 
trophe.  He  was  utterly  unmanned  by  his  reverses.  Not  that 
a  unwilling  to  fight  and  peril  him-elf  a<  before  ;  but  that  he 
was  no  longer  able  to  control  his  pas-inn*,  and  hide  his  iniirmi- 
md  develop  the  strength  and  resources  of  his  genius. 
moody  irritable  and  savage,  he  \vas  now  purposeless  in  his  aim, 
and  utterly  hopeless  of  favorable  events  in  his  future  pr- 
He  had  no  longer  the  heart  for  enterprise,  or  the  spirit  for  ad 
venture ;  and,  forelghl  days,  he  lay  in  his  rude  and  inadequate 
encampment,  among  jj,,.  mins  of  Mauvila.  like  a  wounded  tiger, 
licking  his  wound-  in  hi-;  jungle.  Meanwhile,  the  wounded  suf 


503 
'IV  armj 

slowlr  t<»  repair  its  hurts  an.!  I  ter  a  fa>h:- 

maims  and  bruises.     Hut  it  was  th  former 

iinl   beauty.     The  d  t'  their 

chief  oppressed  the  spirits  of  all.     Hoj 
they  now  only  sighed  t<»r  the  opportunity  to  return  t 
taut   homo   which    few    of  them    v.  -,,-h. »1<1 

It    was  while    they  lay  thus  and   Mitr.-n.-d.  in   th.-   town   of  the 
Mauvilians, — groaning    with    their    hurts,    and    dreading 

Mt  that   the   red  men  would   surround,  and  cmnpi-l  th.-iu  to 
rc-uine   the    stniLTill'1   to  which   they  f.^lt    thnn-eives    so  in. 
that    t!,  ived    intelli«rrmv   Which   wa-    calculate<l    t« 

them  with  the  hope  of  eseape  from  tlie  p.-ril«.us  nie-he^  in  \\hi.-h 
iiail    involved  them.     Tiding  reached    them.  ,m- 
'    dly.  of  the  arrival,  at  Aehuxi  (i. 
ships  from  ( 'ul.a.  under  the  command  of  ' 

:;ado.      The  moment   thi-  11.-  BCeived,  \' 

and    men    l.e-^an    to  ealeiilate   the  <li>tai 
Aehu/i.     It  was — according  to   th« 
days  journey  to    the   sea  coast;   and   ail    heurN  }x-^m   to 

with  the  hope  of  soon  n-a.-liin^    ih.-  ships,  th.- 
<.f  th.-ir   comrades,  and   finally   th-  whi,  h    all 

DOW  irerc  prepared  t..  n-givt  that  they  ha-1  BO  idly  l«-iV      No  one 
,f    to    remain    in   a  region  which  yielded   t'he:n 

••pie  of  wliieh  1'ctrayd  -ue!i  imp 

sl"'h    :'  e    eouniLre.   and    s,,,-h    -.-it, quinary    li- 

character.      They  discussed  th.-inaf  Th,-\ 

m. -..ura^'-d  eaeh  oth.-r  with  their  new  ln.ni  1. 
a  country,  in  which  they  beheld  n«>thin<:  l.ut  i          ;1id  |,|,,,,dv 

I— In  which  they  could  now  aiitieip.-i-,.  nothing  : 
and  a  gloomy  fate  for  all.      Th 

•h mm  -n  -oldi, 

IK.  in  which  the 
nd  wi>h«-  ,-SM-d  }.\  i 

.  that  m-meni.  hi>  reoolye  w&s  tak'  :..     /A  oould  ; 

turn  a  va^alumd  to  Cuha.      II,-  ffho  1.  I 

.-awl    Lack  in  tl 

•H'-k.-n    fugitive,     II      •    .  •  .  r.     II-- 

innst  win  the  tpotifl  h--  -.tiirht.     He  must  carry  I'.-ick  the 

and    the   trophi.-s   of  jj,,.   golden     oil  h    h.-   had   pn-i: 

had  faith  in  th.-  hidden  tr.  H  He 

Still    looked  to  the   OOOquesI    »l    a    M-mi-chi; 


604  VASCOXSELOS. 

those  of  Mexico  and  Peru,  the  overthrow  and  dominion  of  whom 
would  crown  the  close  of  his  life  with  glory,  and  redeem  and  re 
pair  the  hurts  of  character  and  credit  which  had  confessedly 
accrued  from  his  enterprise,  up  to  the  present  moment.  He 
•  •d  to  confound  his  cowardly  followers,  and  to  baffle  all 
their  imbecile  calculations.  He  determined  that  they  should 
share  his  fortunes,  in  spite  of  all  their  frars.  He  did  not  sutler 
tin-in  to  know  that  he  was  awaiv  of  their  secret  hopes.  He 
simply  gave  his  orders — to  turn  their  hacks  upon  his  -hipping,  and 
go  forward,  deeper,  deeper,  into  the  wild  abodes  of  toe  - 
Apalachian. 

II:<  cavaliers,  as  soon  as  they  heard  these  orders,  boldly  un 
dertook  to  expostulate  with  him  upon  them.  They  spoke  of 
the  sea,  of  the  shipping  at  Achuzi,  of  their  hopes  and  homes  in 
Cuba. 

"  Tell  me  not  of  sea,  or  ships,  or  Cuba !"  was  the  angry  reply 
of  the  Adelantado.  "  I  will  see  neither,  until  I  have  conquered 
these  savage  Apalachians, 'and  won  possession  of  their  great 
cities." 

They  would  still  have  expostulated.  "There  were  no  great 
cities"  was  the  answer.  "  These  people  are  mere  savages.  Our 
people  despond.  They  have  not  the  heart  for  further  adventure. 
Their  hearts  are  set  only  on  returning  to  the  sea  coast,  and 
availing  themselves  of  the  shipping,  of  once  more  reaching  Cuba. 
They  are  already  discontent  with  the  delay.  They  will 
mutiny — ." 

••  Ha  !  mutiny  !  Tell  you  this  to  me?  Then  get  ye  ready  your 
executioner,  and  prepare  to  do  as  1  require,  for  by  the  Holy  ' 
so  long  as  I  breathe,  the  Vice-Gerent  here  of  our  Royal  Master, 
I  will  put  to  sharp  justice  the  soldier  who  shall  only  dare  to 
murmur.  Away,  Sir  Knights,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of 
this." 

"The  habitual  exercise  of  authority  had  imparted  to  De  Soto 
a  power  of  command,  which  was  admirably  seconded  by  a  sub- 
mi-^ion  as  habitual,  as  well  among  his  cavaliers,  as  common 
soldiers.  The  obedience  of  the  one,  necessarily  enforced  that 'of 
the  other.  The  army  was  put  under  marching  orders,  and,  with 
weary  footstep-,  and  desponding  hearts,  tin-  remnant  of  the  army 
took  its  way  into  the  great  solitudes  once  more. 

Hut  the  one  purpose  ,,f  progress;  in    Do,  Solo's  mind,  was  un 
directed  by  that  aim  and    design   which    constitute   the   first  true 
a!s    of  successful  adventure    on    the    part    of  the    soldier. 
Disappointed    hitherto    in   the   results  which   followed  his  several 
ente'prises,   he   knew  not    now  whither   to   direct   his   footstep* 


Wli  •  A I  ANA.  605 

From  this  moment,  hisonh  dis. 

tamv 

-imply  hurried  forward,  on  a  route  that  perpetually 

hither  and  thither,  but 
.   no    purpo-e.      He    knew  i.< 
hither     h' 

.filiation.       !!'•    wandered    thus    in 
y    pilgrimage,  clay  by  day,   pa-ing   from  forest    t.i  foi 
from  village  to  village,  fighting  wherever  the  re<l  m  i  his 

path— which  they  .n.l  fighting  always  without 

,;,jcrt.      <  >.  ed    to    think,  seeing    bow  erratic  WM    his 

h..\v  reck  inenrre<l  all   perils  that  his   ival 

|,n,.  •  hidi  brought  him  vexation  only, 

:ui.l  a  life  \vhieh.  his  pride  taught  him,  was  dishonored  by  the  de- 

\Vhileo\irSpaiiiar.U\\.  .ting  thcmseh  '  /.ivila, 

wliat  of  the    propU-  of  tlie   (ireat  King,  Tusi-aluxa  ?   what    of  the 

tuguese   Kni-l.t.  \\hoin  \\e  now  tana,  th«-  im- 

Mant    «if  tiie   Mauvilian  Cassi.juc.    son-ly  wounded 
in  the  final  battle  with  the  Spaniard^. 

j    tlirir    red    f(.ll.)\\  •   of 

•••ntigiKM;  A-    :!.  ft  all 

1  with  th  1  in  the 

utmo-t    subt'..  .  as  cunnii 

:   the 
l 

•  li,.  .  iti-r  number-,  wh"  WOOD    tin; 

iiiain>t    them.      The    Mauvilian-   iiad 
probably  thn--  i  warriors  and  a  f 

li.-id  perish*    i  :    but  a  nir  inny 

stil,  -  \lau- 

.  ;  while    ntlu-rs  dai  into    hi-  i    by    the 

Had  h 

^paniar.ls  had  ; 
inoni.-iit  in    Mauviia  ;  had    nev«-r    been    j  pair 

ruit   them 
1 1  .  i  ;h  •:!•  m  .htly  with 

ut  off  \\hrin-ver  th'  :lh  ; 

it  i-  j.robalil. 

•:iany  <lay-  of -tru^j  '-.n.  .-nding  in  their  utter 

annihilation.     They  were  then   in  no   condition  to   tight,  and  as 
little  to  end  , 

Hut,  in  the  wounds  and    in-  :'  their  great  leadei 


506  VASCONSELOS. 

red  men  did  not  dare  to  venture  upon  tin-  enterprise  for  them 
selves.  They  were  content  to  gather  and  prepare  th.-mselves; 
to  provide  a  new  armory  ;  to  lay  in  sup plies  of  provisions;  to 
guard  their  wounded  monareh  ;  and  wateli  clo-elv  all  the  move- 
inents  of  the  Spaniards.  Tusealu/a  had  been  severely  hull,  lint 
the  red  men.  rarely  outraging  nature  with  the  too  fiv.jt  ently  im 
j)ertinent  pretensions  of  art.  were  good  nurses,  and  not  had  Mir 
geons.  in  tliat  day,  when  they  did  not  feel  their  own  deficiencies 
and  had  not  learned  to  succumb  to  the  genius  of  the  white  man. 
They  had  considerable  knowledge  of  pharmacy ,  and  dealing  with 
green  wounds,  which  were  not  necessarily  mortal,  they  were 
singularly  successful.  The  conquering  people  have  Inn-rowed 
many  good  lessons,  and  much  knowledge,  from  their  skill  in, 
medicine. 

Of  course,  Istalana  shared  with  the  Great  King,  in  the  best  at 
tentions  of  his  people.  Nay,  he  had  probably  even  better  attend 
ance.  lot-  was  not  Co^alhi  his  nurse,  and  was  not  Juan  nigh, 
jealous  of  her  cares,  and  watehful  of  every  opportunity  to  inter 
pose  his  own  ?  Yasconselos  had  suffered  from  several  wound-. 
lie  had  lii-en  brought  from  the  field  in  a  state  of  utter  insen 
sibility.  Borne  on  a  litter  through  the  fl -rests  to  a  p. 
safety.  rem»te  from  the  BOene  of  aetion.  he  had  undergone  a  long 
struggle  with  the  mortal  enemy  of  life.  Youth,  nival  vigor  «>( 
constitution,  fond  and  sleepless  cares,  and  a  loVing  solicitude  that 
neglected  nothing ;  to  those  he  owed  h'  ry,  Durini:  all 

his  sull'd-imfs.  through  a  long  insensibility,  lever  and  delirium. 
Toi.-alla  never  slept.  Ah  !  the  devotedness  of  the  loving  heart — 
the  loving  woman  !  How  it  galled  the  soul  of  Juan  to  see  hei 
officious  tenderness,  when  he  could  not  interpose — when  he  dare'! 
Dot.  How  it  angered  him,  when  (Walla  bonnd  the  fever  bain, 
to  the  forehead  of  the  unconscious  Knight — when  she  bathed  hh 
hands  and  arms  in  cooling  waters  ;  when  she  applied  the  bruised 
herbs  to  his  wounded  side  and  bosom,  when  she  poured  th 
inn  hi-veraires  into  his  burning  lips,  \\heii  she  sate  by  liim.  and 
lifted  his  head  upon  her  arm-<.  and  aiTaiiM  her  bosom,  and  mur 
mured  softlv  in  his  oars,  her  fond,  exulting  consciousness — u  <>h  ! 
Philip  !  my  Philip." 

Then  would  the  pane  chafe  with  vexation.  He  betrayed  his 
aniT'T.  He  was  rud"  to  (Walla.  He  complained  even  of  her 
officious /eal.  and  sleeple—  attendance. 

And  Co^alla  pleaded  with  him  as  ifvhe  had    been  no   pri 
She    knew    that   the   boy    loved    the  cavalier,   and    for    this   ^he 
forgave  him   all  his  offences.      It   \va^  ijuite  enough  with    her,  that 
the  rude  boy  wa-,  devoted    to    his  ma-ter.     That,  she  saw.     Shu 


was  n<  •'  •.      Hut  -lie  -aid  to   Juan,  one  day 

when  lu-  v  .vly  in-o! 

"Why.:  'hilip  grow  angry  ?     Doth   1;. 

loVC  hi-    111,: 

loT6t him too^ tndbei  i  him,  that  she  wa  .i.and 

i.-m,  and  <  ;nds.  an-!  makr-  hi-  COUch  of 

1  would  Juan  de-ire  l>ut   to  m.ik 
:>py  hi-    master  1    would    lu-  hav.-    C(.(;a!la  I 
(Vu-alla    will    not    halt-    Philip!    Coralla    lo\vs    I'hilij.   \\itli     lu-r 

:iin,Lr,  nohody,  so  wt-11  a-  ljhilij>." 
vhat  Juan  <li<l  not  cL-ii\-.      Hut.  : 
•  nl<l    h«-    an^wi-r  ?      ll.-<-oulti   only  turn  a\sav.  and  . 
UPS,  an-!  «-urM'  lii<  late,  that   MitK-n-'l  otlu-r  hamls    and  oth»-r 
•'nan  his  own.  to  nnr>c  and  tt-nd.  and    minister  to  the  brm{Z 
whom  be  so  much  loved^  with  a  like  love  also.     \'-  •  wnv 

th.-  tort  Miring  that  long  trial,  while  \ 

unded  and  in<eii>iMe  iijmii  !h«-  frii  I  •  aiitifui 

princr--.  and    so   l(>>i<r  a<  she   al«in«-   had    power   to  wateh  I 
him. 

But   _'    dually  both   Tu-.-aiu/a   and    I-talana   jrrew  hr»ter   from 
tht-ir  hurt-,  and  the  eyes  of  tin-  Por'.ui:  d  to  a 

know:-  :nl>;  and  he  took  the  h  :dla  within 

•i. — and  the  hand  of  Juan   too;  a-  they  stood   on  0] 
•fthe  couch;  and  hf  ki— e.l  the  hand  of  ( '..calla  ;   while  th^ 
.  i^h.-d   merrily  with   joy,   and    ki— ed    Jiis   lorvh.'ad    in 
return.      Hut   as  fur  Juan,   he  eouid    i-nly  turn   away,  and  \\.-i-p. 
Tn«- j'-y    >f  the   prii  r.  —  w;u>  tluj  -"rmw  of  the  page. 


CHAPTER  XL1X. 

t  we  forward  . — 
Never  was  a  war  did  <•< 
Ere  bloody  hands  were  wusln  iV 

Cr 

THE  warriors  of  the  Apalaohian  had  been  set  in  motion,  by  tin 
impatient  Tuscaluxa.  betb.v  Vasconselofl  was  aMe  to  take  tin 
field.  His  pride  made  liiin  impatient.  Advised  of  ever; 
hi  the  progress  of  the  Spaniards,  he  had  commanded  th;.- 
steps  should  be  followed;  and.  taking  counsel.  f..r  awhile,  from 
Istalana.  he  had  pursued  a  eantious  policy,  which  sludiou>l\  foiv- 
bore  risking  anything  mi  a  genera!  battle.  His  present  chief 
warrior  was  Chica/a,  who  controlled  an  immen-e  district  of 
country,  and  could  bring  at  least  live  thousand  warriors  into  tin- 
field.  The  progress  of  DeSoto  had  now  brought  him  into  the 
territories  of  this  Chief.  To  him.  TiiM-aiii/a  -  preparing  himself 
to  take  the  field — had  sent  instructions  to  harass  the  Spaniard  >. 
OOt  Off  detachments  and  supplies,  whenever  occa-ion  c!r.-ivd.  but, 
on  no  account,  to  engage  in  genera!  action.  It  wa^  the  fortune  •'!' 
the  Great  King  to  Apaiachia.  t<>  \»-  «t  (  aptains.  who.  lil,,. 

the    ambitious   ( 'liief>   among    more    eivili/ed   tuitions,    ha. 
miU'h  self-esteem  to  hearken  to  the  words  of  counsel,  or  even  to 
obey  the  commands  of  their  superiors  always.      <  ntnivil 

battle  with  the  eiiemv.  and  \va--  dct'-ate«l.      But    not  till  a  dread 
ful    mas-acre  had  taken  place,  as   terribly  murderous  to   • 
men  as  that  of  Mauvila.  and  (jtiite  as  fatal  to  the  Spaniard-. 

De    SotO    had    possessed    himself  of  the    \illaue    of  <  'hic:;/a. 
The  first  aet  of  the,  ii  '.pie  was  the  .I.--t  IMC;  ion  of  his  own 

town.  He  decreed  it  to  the  flames.  It  was  a  bitter  ;-»M  night 
in  February,  the  north  wind  blowing  wildly,  and  dark  clouds 
scudding  aCTOSfl  the  sky,  when  the  Ca->i«jue  led  liis  lor 

rate  bodies,  to  the  attack.      Tint  Spaniards  knew  not  o, 
their  danger,  till  the  dwellings,  in  which  they  had  sheltered  them- 
i    in   flam-  ts   and    sentinels,   officer-    and 

men,  had  been  alike  neur'e<-ffiil  of  dat\ .  The  red  men  -tole  into 
an  unwatched  camp.  Thev  gave  no  alarm,  until  they  had  laid 
their  inflammable,  torches  beneath  th-  .  and  until  their 

shafts,  tipped  with  lighted  matche-,  had  swept  to  the  straw-roofed 

1608) 


BAT1  AGO.  609 

lodges,  and  fastened    tlu  ni-rlv.--    inextricably  amonu   th 
Then  did  the  war-whooj.  M>und  th«-    signal    tor   assault;   trn-n  did 
the   wild   eoiu-h-  deliver  their  mournful  *     •  l.-i. 

drums  and    rattles   of  the    (  ;;d   f.-arfully  about   the 

:  ed  habitations.      Then  did  the  red  in-  'hou-and 

in  mimlier,  ru-h  to  the   battle,  surrounding 

and  dealing  their  etleetual  ario. 
sallied  forth. 

\\ '.-  must  not  enter    into  the    details    of  tliis    battle.      \V 

lltS.      The  ivd  men  \\vr-  that  K  they  n 

::'.  lor  shelter,  to  their    thiekets  and    .-everal    liundrrd    "I 
tin-in  were  >iain.      lint  the  victory,  like  that  of  Maiivila.  wa-  one 
whieh   the    Sj»ariiar  -an,  not    exult!      Fifty 

of  tht-ir  soldier^    had    been   slain.  \\ ; 

them;    a-    DUUHjf    bonefl    had     ;     fi-hed    al-n.  ami    a    like    mil: 
\\,r,  :ime.  but  l\>r  Nnno  de  Tobar  and 

niards    mii-t    have    l»e»-n    m 
i.      An  entire  company  il.-d  in  p.. 

brought    baek    by   T«»bar.       Th«-     ;' 

eaptain  and   hi-   i  '.  taet.  were  the  true  Bfiviora  «.t'  the 

annv.      \Vh«-n  '.lie  mo:row'>    -un  -hone  upon    the   work,  she   hot 

be  of  him>rlf.  iru-hcd  liirth  from  the  eyes  of  tit.-  l.ai.irhiy 

.•ward  progreaa  of.  i 

:,.•«!  the  complete  annihilation  of  all  hi->  h» 
Hi-  u!o.,iii  and  \c\ati. .11  of  spirit  inerea-»-«l  the  pilph  bet  v\ 
hiniM-lf  and  1.  H«-  had  for  them  n«»  w«'i  , 

||,  ««f  daily  inju-tiiv.      !!«•    niortilii-d    th.-ir   |»rid< 

hi-    haughty-  'o    th«-ir    >uir«-rinx-i   and    wishe- ;    h- 

mj-athies  by  the    r.j.eii'.n   of  all    OOQimu 

With    tilt  ••:;.         Hi-    I) 

ii.-.l  li'mi  with  .  \iior- 

r.-min-U-d  him  j.ainfid:;  bom  h.-  a-eribed  the  ru 

lii-   f.'rtun.'-.      ThojiLih    he    named   n«-t    1'hilip  de  Vase,  .n-i-1. 
.-ill,.  ;'  what    h<-  ki.-- 

th.-m  no  duoa  to  •  i:i  of  his  o\\n 

1   to  them  \sith   a   bitt.  rin-»  tha' 
their 

"Oh,  ye  do  well  !  ,n.l  toeotreftt,  and  eoun-.-l.      W)jy 

do  \ 

• 

not  the  d  IIU1  ih  it    haunts    our    1- 

U-rrors.  innoeeiit 


610  VASCONSELOS. 

Yet  why  do  ye  go  with   him  in  )our  hearts,  that  ye  may  the 

better  plu.-k  tlown  ruin  on  my  head." 

M  What  means  his  Excellency,"  demanded  the  confounded 
Nuno  ile  Tul>ar.  The  scowling  eyes  of  De  Soto  were  set  upon 
Ai. tires  de  V,i-con-c!os.  The  latter  j»ruudly  answered,  and  with 
«i  calm  eold  sterness  of  manner,  which  made  the  resemblance 
between  himself' and  brother  much  more  evident  than  ever. 

M  1  know  not  what  your  Excellency  design-  to  sav.  lor  a  truth 
all  that  you  have  spoken  sounds  strange  and  unmeaning  in  mine 

•  ut  if  their  be  any  purpo>e  to  charge  aught  of  our  di  , 
upon  my  neglect  of  duty  or  want  of  loyalty,  then  do   1  demand 
that  vou  name  mv  accuser,  and  my  sword  shall  answer  to  hN 
hood." 

-  Kven  thus  he   spoke!   Thus   he  look.  .1  !   Thus    he   defied    me 
cried  De SotO,  his  memory  still  retaining  full  recollection  of 
the  reserve  and  self-esteem  which  in  the  case  of  Philip  deVaBCOD- 
selos    had  always  offended  the  amour  pr»jin-  of  the   Castilian. 

"Of  whom  speaks  the  Adelantado  .'"    .icmanded   Tobar. 

"Of  win. ml  Jesu  !  one  would  think  you  had  slept,  without 
hearing  the  cries  of  war.  without  feeling  the  shock  of  battle, 
without  scathing  in  tin-  scorching  flame-  that  swept  over  us  l»y 
night,during  the  last  thirty  days  of  strife  and  honor.'' 

Such  was  the  Midden  btuM  of  seeming  astonishment,  with  which 
the  adclantado  replied  to  his  lieutenant.  lie  continued,  ardently 
and  wildly — 

kt  (  >f  whom  should  I  speak,  but  of  that  insolent  .late  which  has 
1  our  step.-,  from  Chiala,  ami  which  hang-  over  u-  with  ruin. 
<  Mi  !  ye  know  not.  Ve  are  blind.  Ye  will  remain  blind  until  the 
knife  is  at  your  throats,  and  there'  i-  no  means  left  ye  f«>r  escape. 
Hark  ye!  Ye  have  seen  De  Soto  overthrown,  for  the  first  time 
overthrown,  in  single  combat  ;  man  opposed  to  man.  lance  to  lance 
•-teed  to  steed.  And  ye  have  seen  all  this  achieved  bv  a  naked 
savage  of  the  Apalachian!  No  mail  ujion  his  biva-t.  no  helmet 
upon  his  brow,  no  crest  upon  gleaming  shield,  declaring  hi  -  ileeds 
in  war.  Yet  he  had  a  name.  Once  he  had  ere-t  and  shield,  and 
cuirass.  Ha!  Ha!  A  red  -avage  !  and  ye  thought  it  wa->  a  mere 
savage,  a  naked  Apalachian  of  the  hills,  whose  lance  could  toil  that 
of  lid-nan  DC  Soto.  \vho-e  charge  and  thruM  could  roll  tlie  (  as- 
tilian  warrior  into  the  dust.  Oh  !  blind!  Hark  ye!  It  \\asno 
red  man  no  Apaiachian.  iho'i-h  wearing  hi-  .-cmblance.  It  was 
tlii-  abouned  Fat«\  I  tell  you,  that  purMies  u-  now.  that  will  still 
pursue  us.  that  will  feed  upon  i  sail,  even  a-  the  vulture  and  the 
wolf  glean  among  our  bones  bl-  aching  in  the  wilderness.  But  1 
t  fall  in  vain  !  Then-  \\iiJ  be  a  bloody  i-sueyet.  His  crest 


.  1TKAR3.  Ml 

•gainst  mine,  ami  10  help  me.  Blessed  Jesu,  M  I  *hall  yet  plant  a 
fatal  stroke  of  the  battle-*]  n  hi-  aeci,  —that  Fate 

of  mint-  !     He  -hall  not  overthrow  me  quite.      In  my  fall,  \ 
behold  his  also  !  ay.  ay  !  Imt  a  little  while.     But  a  few  days  now — 
so  gentlemen.  <:et   \e  ready  for  i 

The  f  De  Soto  wa 

dently  1!  .in  wa>  wild  a;  :;   and   such   for 

i!  'lays  continued  to  he  the  mood  which  prevailed  with  him, 
and  the  manner  of  his  -perch.      Bi.t   hi-    inflexible  will  w; 
active  and   comm  Hiding,  and    Mifticed   for  authority.      lie  drove 

ird.  after    a    very    l»rief  delay, 

spent  in  ivpairinir  >word<  and  ann-'r.  and  L'iviii^  re-t  to  thu 
wounded.  But  dreadful  were  the  sutlerin^  "f  the  trooj.s.  The 
winter  wa-  v.  ry  oold,  and.  dreadini:  th--  1  men, 

they  could  no  '.  ture  to  (MMMIPV  the  villa. 

aluzn  and  Ntalana  were  now  hoth  in  tin-  field  once  umre, 
and  the  authority  of  the  latter  prevailed  with  the  (Jivut  Kinur. 
Tin-  rednieii  were  no  loi;.  iilideiit  of  tin  ir  j»r«»\v.->-;  as  to 

rUk  a  general  Action,  Th.-y  contented  thcm-dvc-  with  guerilla 
warfare.  They  hung  upon  the  wii;-_r<.  and  in  the  rear  of  th« 
Spaniards,  harra^ini:  them  at  every  -tep.  Th--v  enc<«unti-red 
them  in  front  with  sudden  dart-;,  whenev-r  the  thickets  eiiaMcd 
them  to  cover  then.-  -.dily  from  the  cavaJiy.  I  >•  8 

maddeiiini:  with  every  d  h  fi-vi-r   hurnii 

in  his  t.mplc-.  and  uncicatri/cd  wound^  -valdini:  him  l.eiieath  hi-* 
armor,  urew  m  J6  in  his  m«><  more  and  more 

himself  that    a    h'ate   lnm'_r  ftbove   his    l.amicr,  which 
should  finally  x\voop  down  in  .  luiryin^  it  in  Mood  \',,\. 

With   siK-h  a  -up.-r^tition  w«>rk:i 

fain.  wl).>  had  ',,n  in  arm-. 

•  •••ond    not   even    to   tha' 
now      moody    and    CtpH 

of  purpose,    without    ]  :.-riiiLr, 

like  a  vagrant    with   hU   army,  to  and  fr«».  a-  th--  wind-  l«lew  and 

th--  waten  ran. 

told  him  of  a  red  man  KGD  on  hor-eback. 
thi-n  in  -iLrht  ot'  :h,-  anny.  th 
••Mi1''  It'  i-  th- 

-liall  m. -  '  '  •       I !  .'  1 1  .  ' 

n  »w  -hall  we  - 

And  he  K-ide  them  help  l.ii.-kle  on  hi- 
at    the    head    of  hi-    : 

•tood  the  i 

u  Now,"  cried  De  JSoto  tu   i 


512  .  VASCONSELOS. 

back,  while  ye  see  me  transfix  this  indolent  enemy — this  Fate 
that  haunts  my  footsteps  to  destroy — with  but  a  single  thrust  of 
my  good  spear.  Ho !  Sant  lago,  to  the  rescue  !" 

And  with  the  famous  slogan  of  Spani>h  battle,  tin-  maddened 
cavalier  dashed  forward  to  the  assault. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  Spaniards  clearly  saw,  the  red  warrior  wel 
comed  the  encounter;  for  he  waved  .his  long  lance  aloft  in  the 
sunlight,  and  he,  too,  advanced  as  if  glad  to  engage  in  the  mortal 
struggle  with  the  noble  Castilian.  P»ut  it  ua>»  no  part  of  tlm 
policy  of  the  Spanish  knights  or  soldiers  to  Miller  tin-  Adelantado 
to  peril  himself  in  singly  combat,  in  his  present  diseased  and 
feeble  state.  Besides,  they  had  seen  the  wonderful  and  unac 
countable  prowress  which  the  red  warrior  had  shown  on  horseback 
They  naturally  concluded  the  one  before  them  to  be  the  ^ame 
who  had  already  overthrown  their  leader,  and  they  begai.  to  share 
in  the  superstitions  which  he  had  taught  them  to  ropeet.  They 
dashed  forward  in  a  body  to  the  support  of  I)e  Soto,  and.  with 
their  approach,  the  strange  warrior  of  Apalachia  mclte.i  irom 
sight,  man  and  horse,  into  the  dim  shadows  of  the  impenetrable 
forest 

"Whither  went  he?"  demanded  the  Adelantado.  '-Did  the 
earth  swallow  him?  Did  ye  see  him  ride  away  ?" 

"Verily,7'  said  one,  "he  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  he  came  ! 
We  saw  not  how  !  Perhaps  into  the  foivM.'' 

"  But  had  he  not  been  a  fiend  from  hell,  couUl  he  have  sped 
from  sight  unseen — unheard?" 

The.  knights  crossed  themselves  solemnly,  and  each  multi-red 
to  himself  a  prayer. 

"It  i-  the  Kate — my  Fate  !"  exclaimed  DC  Soto  as  they  led 
him  back  ;  "  but  1  shall  cross  weapon  with  him  \  '  la-jo 

against  the  Kieiid.  my  friends!      1  will  compier  mine  enemy'/ 

Days  pas>.-d  ;  tin-  Spaniards  still  piv— ed  forward  ;  still  har- 
Bssed  i.v  their  sh-epless  enemies,  and  unable,  with  all  their  arts, 
to  bring  tin-  wily  red  men  to  a  general  action.  Put  I  •  ••  Soto  wa> 
told  of  a  fortress  into  which  .ue.  had  thrown 

IniiM-lf.  upon  the  very  borders  of  his  province,  and  where  he 
appeared  preparing  1"  defend  himself.  The  news  seemed  t<.  con 
centrate  all  the  energies  and  purposes,  of  I  )e  Sutn.  It  nave  him 
a  definite  purp.-e.  Th<  fortress  was  railed  Alabama,  aii-i 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Ya/oo  river.  The  garrM>n  wa-  large, 
The  fortress  v\as  Mmnir  and  built  like  th.i'  •  .f  M-iM\i!a.  Tin 
Ad'-iMi,1.!  i  .-  at  once  led  his  army  Miriiii'l  if  :  cU'Udn  of  the  red  men, 
under  Tusealu/a  and  iMalana  •  up«M!  hi-  id  rear. 

A  tflj-r  -siiling 


DESPAIR    OK    I>K    SOTO.  513 

the  fortress,  while  their  cavalry  wa^  required  to  defend  llieir  rear 
against    th>  n   that    hou-ivd   on    their   flanks.     The 

again   victorious  at    the    u-u.-d    price  of  victory. 
They  lost  -  ••{'  their  I •:  diers,     '1  In    '.• 

•I  men  wa-  .  hut    not  Mich   ;i-*  tin-   siiperlat ivcl v 

extravagant  chroniclers  of  tW-ir  people  would  Lave  us  belies 
tact,  the  defence   of  tin-   fort;--  uly   oi:r   of  thoxc   modes 

which  the  policy  of  the   Apalachians  taught    them  to  cni|>l<>\,  b\ 
which  gradually    to  1    exhaust    the    stivngth   of  \\\<-   in- 

vailcrs.      They  did    not    e \poM-    them^elve->   unnccev  -;n-ilv  ;    I'K.^e 
v  In •  fo ught  without   the  f-Ttrcsv  had   tl. 

.  with  a  thousand  avciiiu-  oj-.-n  to  thcii-  light-licchd  i 
for  (light,  while  they  Wen-  alni«»t  inipeiictralilc  to  th--  c;i\;d:-\  of 
their    -  -he    i.iln-r   hand,  when    • 

pressed  on  three  sides  of  the  fnrt !••••»<.  sim|'l\    leapt  the  riser.  ai;«l 

to  the  other  side.      In  this  conflict,  lu.th  I  •     E 

Philip  de  Vasconsr],  j.nn  wounded,  nut  neither  M-vcivl\. 

A  snare  was  laid  hy  the  Spanish  knight^  ll.r  taking  the  ; 
boFnmiD  of  the  Apalachian^;  luit  the  plan  was  badly  con. 
or  badly  managed.      It  w.--.  •  ted,  and  l-talana  fought  on  foot, 

with  battle-axe  and  macana.     Once  he  ran-..-  nta.-ly  to  blo\\ 

to,  and,  hut  lor  the  sudden  fluctuation-,  of  the  combat,  \\onld 

in  his  etK.rN  to  do  BO,      A    pren  of  kn-glr 

denly  threw  a  wall  of  iron  and  defensive  ^prars  bet \\ecn  him  ;.nd 

-    baflled.      The    red    men    melted  a\\a\    fri-iu 

D   as  the  mornini:   mi-t^  bet'ore  the  -1111. 

d  with  what  was  done,  and   leaving  to  their  eoemiefl  Imt    a 

barri-n  c-oiKjii' 

1  of  this  }>attle  was  to  confirm  De  Sot,,  in   the  bitter- 
':d  that   strange    phrcn/\ — n.-t.  h"Wi-\rr.  un 
natural — which    had    taken    posst.<>i(,n    «.f  hi*   brain.      Il.-\\a-   a 
terribly  stricken  man.  and    his   mind   frequently  wandered,  \\hilc 
r  capable  of  that   hftraj    end), 

,:.ibit  that  t-la-f  .  \\hi.-h  liad 

hitherto  cKstingliishod  it  in    »-v«-ry  proLrre-s.      I'.m    *>\}\\  }K-  j  • 

,rd,  heedless  wh'ither.  except  that  lie  Always  rdig- 
i'.uvly  strove  to   leave  the   sea  behind   liim.      II. 

template    th«-    lea,         He   dared    '  "JUllUS 

in  that  direct},, i  |en   j,j^  i;,!|,,u-,.r,  u  tll  }.,, 

unable  to  control  their  future  cOUne,      Tli.-\    ha-i  tOO  fuil\  -h..\\:i 
him  the  lii,.  ,;,,„  in  th 

' 
»^  he  hod  proiijibL-d.  he   pr. ••'..- rn-J  to  bury  hi^  furtui. 


614  VASCONSELOS. 

shame  together  in  the  depths  of  the  wilderness.     He  was  a  fine 
example  of  the  terrible  selfishness  of  ambition. 

The  erratic  progress  of  De  Soto  at  length  brought  him  to  the 
banks  of  the  Mississippi.  His  was  the  tir-t  European  eye,  ac 
cording  to  the  authentic  history  in  our  pos>es>ion,  which  ever  In- 
held  the  vast,  turbid  and  wondrous  strejyns  of  the  "Father  of 
Waters."  De  Soto  gazed  upon  them  with  but  little  in?. 
He  dreamed  not  of  the  glorious  territories  which  they  watered. 
He  saw  not,  through  the  boundless  vistas  of  the  future,  the  im 
merous  tribes  who  should  dwell  upon  their  prolific  border- 
crowning  them  with  the  noblest  evidence-  ..f  life,  and  with  tin- 
loveliest  arts  of  civilization.  The  spirit  of  the  Adelantado  \\.i> 
crushed.  The  fires  of  ambition  were  ijiienchcd  in  his  boson,. 
His  heart  was  withered  :  his  hope  was  blasted  forever.  He  was 
now  a  dying  man;  not  exactly  a  maniac,  but  with  a  mind  ill  at 
ease,  disordered,  vacant,  capricious  ;  striving  with  itself:  wearv, 
and  longing  only  for  the  one  blessing,  which  he  had  never  suffered 
himself  to  enjoy  ; — Peace!  His  heart  did  not  exactly  crave  a  res 
toration  to  his  home  in  Cuba,  but  the  image  of  the  noble  wom 
an,  his  wife,  rose  frequently,  reproachful  in  his  sight.  He  had 
loved  her,  as  fervently  as  he  could  have  loved  any  woman  ;  bur, 
in  the  ambitious  soul,  love  is  a  verv  tributary  passion.  It  craves 
love,  but  accords  little  in  return.  Its  true  passion  is  glory  ! 

Wehave  foreborne  a  thousand  details  of  strife,  anxiety,  dread  and 

suffering,  which  the  Spaniards  were  doomed  to  experience  before 
they  reached  the  Mississippi.  They  were  haunted  by  the  perpetual 
terrors  of  the  Apalaehians.  Tuscalu/a  and  hi>  Portuguese  Lieu 
tenant  Istalana  gave  them  no  respite.  They  crossed  the  Mi<sis«.ip- 
pi.  They  penetrated  the  country  of  the  Kaskaskias.  and  still  they 
were  under  the  eye  and  the  influence  of  the  Great  King  of  the 
Apalaehians.  The  terrors  of  his  name  met  them  on  every  >ide. 
The  powers  of  his  arm  smote  them  in  all  their  progress,..;.  ••  The 
Fate!  The  haunting  and  pursuing  Fate!  Oh!  Philip  de  Ya--«:i- 
selos  !"  cried  De  Soto  to  himself — '•  thou  art  terribly  ave: 
Would  that  we  could  meet,  mine  enemy  !  would  that,  alone,  we 
stood  naked,  front  to  front,  on  the  borders  of  this  great  heathen 
river,  spear  to  spear,  and  none  to  come  between.  Then,  then  ! 
Thy  spear  or  mine!  Thy  fate  or  mine!  1  have  wronged  thee, 
Philip  de  Vasconselos,  but  1  should  ^lay  thee  invert  h'lc-^. 
Verily,  thou  art  terribly  avenged.  I  have  wrong.-, 1  thee,  but 
what  had  these  done  to  thee,  thy  Christian  brethren,  that  thou 
should'st  decree  their  destruction  also  ?  Yet  thou  shalt  not ! 


BACKKI*  i:r;  :•  .  >iv.  515 

Sant  lago!  there  shall  come  :in  hour  when  thoii  sh:\lt  be  nY]i\ 

.y  hand<." 

The  uriefs.  the  suU'erinns  of  DeSot<>  prompted  :\  revival  of  Ins 
religious    enthusiasm.       He   commanded    that  a    pine  of  iiiuantic 
:ht  should  be  hewn  int<>  the  form  of  a  cro-<.      He  had  it  plant- 
Mil  rnvmoiiials  upon  the  bank-  of  the   stream, 
eon-rented  its  inauguration  with  great  solemnitv,  a:>d  \vitii 

pitiatory   sacrifice-.      II        p    |    •    U  Iliade    the 

nil  infliiei;                    :-t  ;i!pl  .l.-f'-at  I  he  terr<>r> -t  that  li«-n  i.-- 

that    Fate.  —  with  which  he  imw  l.eiievt-d    hiniM'lf  to  he    piir-ue.l. 

n,  more  than  thr- •«•    huinlred    years   a«r<>,  tin-   embl* 
Cliristian  faith  t",\  itlu-r  of  \Vat- 

lian   rit.                     iti-«l    hi-    mighty  billows   as   they  hurried  with 
-:lad  ti.liniis  to  the 

Hut  these  solemn  ceremonials  compelled  no  friend: 

further  manl,  -       ,  only  brought  him  to  the  b! 

nnln-aee  of    n.-wr    ene  ni  •-.       lb>\\-    the    ;inns    an!    influen- 

the  A  palarhians  j>ursned  him  wherever  he  sped — how  th> 

linsl  him  the  warrior-  of  ( 'apaha.  Tula  and  ot!i.-r  tribi-s  ;    what 

•  the  combat-,  what  th«-  !o— es.  tin-  Mirprisrs,  the  fear-,  th- 
ferin^  of  the  Spaniards,  in  their  daily  pr-  ntlv 

i   from   tln-ir  own  meagre  chronicles.     Incessant  si 

I  nights,  weary  marcii.--,  w^mid-  an  1  t"il.  these,  with  final 
mutiny  arnon^  hi-  own  followers,  utterly  broke  down  the  soid  of 
!)«•  SotO,  and  to«,k  from  him  all  his  -trench.  L«-t  it  ^uili.-e  t!i.-\t 
the  noble  CastUian  at  la-t  con-t-nt.-d  n.  r. 'trace  hi-  step-.  The 

daoid  late  t'or  !  !•  t\.      H.it  he  despatcln-d  a 

:ivel\   with    the     h«pe    to  find    the 
vhile.  warring  at  <  \  \\itli 

new  rti«-nii«--.  I  )-•  S- -t  •  •  plant.'d  liim  elf  at  Irtish  at  a  village  whirh 
he  had    captured,  call,  d    ( Iiia.-h-  >\  a.  ..n    ti,  1-at.ks  ,  ,f  th.- 

Mi— i— ijipi.     i  1  to  build  brigaatines,  and  m 

hi-  way    out  of  a    country    in  which   deati,  |    his 

heels,  and    an  I  mt    d<-f.-:kf      i 

hop-  •••  h.-  veiitur.-d  to  plant  h  p- 


CHAPTER  L. 

"  IABI  Kent  of  a'l 
Phat  end*  <K«  «trange  eventful  hi«u»ry." 

SHAKSPKIKK. 

OUR  previous  narrative  of  events  has  brought  us  to  tin-  opt-;-, 
ing  of  the  summer  of  the  ye^r  1542.  We  have  readied  the 
melancholy  close  of  all  those  glorious  prospects,  and  trinm pliant 
hopes,  with  which  Hernando  de  Soto  left  the  shores  of  Cuba,  tor 
the  country  of  the  savage  Apalachian.  He  was  a  subdued  and 
broken-hearted  man;  humbled  in  spirit,  mortified  in  pride, 
ruined  in  fortune.  He  had  survived  all  his  hopes.  Despair  had 
taken  possession  of  his  soul.  To  crown  his  misery,  physical 
sutlering  was  superadded  to  his  griefs  of  mind,  and  wounds,  and 
travail,  fatigue  and  fever,  had  combined  to  prostrate  the  iron 
frame  of  him,  who,  in  the  pride  of  muscular  vigor,  had  never 
dreamed  that  any  toil  or  trial  should  have  forced  him  to  succumb. 
Nothing  short  of  this  utter  prostration  of  his  physical  strength 
and  energies,  would  ever  have  compelled  him  to  yield  the  point 
to  Fate — would  ever  have  moved  him  to  listen  to  the  entreat  ies<>f 
his  followers — now  urged  with  a  stern  resolution  that  would  no 
longer  brook  denial,  to  turn  back  from  the  forest-  to  il, 
iml  endeavor  once  more,  to  regain  the  shores  of  that  beant;fu! 
island,  which,  even  the  proud  spirit  of  De  Soto  himself,  be. 
'noaiied  in  secret,  with  a  fond  and  fearful  anxiety.  On  the  banks 
of  the  vast  and  lonely  Mississippi,  occupying  the  Indian  village 
•  f  Guachoya,  the  Adelantado  gave  his  orders  for  the  construction 
«>»'  ,i  couple  of  brigantines,  such  as  would  enable  him  to  seek  the 

sea. 

His  people  set  themselves  to  this  work,  with  the  eagern- 
IM  •!!.  to  whom  the  fruition  of  all  their  hopes  is  promised.  While 
of  them  were  engaged  felling  and  seasoning  tiniin-r.  o'h.-rs 
secured  the  country,  seeking  adventures  and  pro\  i>ions  ;  and 
all,  to  prevent  the  too  near  approach  of  the  swarming 
hordes  of  red  men,  by  whom,  ever  since  their  approach  to  the 
territories  of  Tuscaluza,  their  fortunes  had  been  followed.  That 
Kate,  as  De  Soto  himself  esteemed  it — which  had  hung  upon 
their  steps  and  striven  against  them,  with  a  bitter  hostility  from 
the  moment  when  Vasconselos  was  lost  to  the  ('astilian  columns, 
and  Istalana  suddenly  sprang  into  existence,  as  the  leader  of  those 


DE  WEI)    m  ME.  617 

of   the    Apalachian,    uas    Mill    i  'ill   a   haunting    terror, 

still   making    itself    felt    unseen,  still    cutting    <>ff  detachm* 
striking  at  posts,  boating  up  the  bivouac,  carrying  ofl*.  or  smiting 
down.  th'  i\  an«l  -h<  "•  '" 

vident  purpo-e  to  POOt  out  and  utterly  i  he  inva- 

Tu-ra!u/a's    power   and    inlluen<  ver\  where   hmugh1 

thi-  FatC  aii-1  promote  thi<  terrible   purpo-e.      His  rtllH 
traversed  th<     M  :ntry,  pa— ing  from  tribe  to  tribe,  brii •. 

tidings    of    the    Spaniards  \vhnv    thry   Came;   "t'   thrir    b!«».i.|\ 
rha,  thfl  powr  ««f  tlu-ir  anus  thr  grasping 

of  tlu-ir  desires.    Tli.-  Ckptainsof  'l'u-«-a!u/a  i 

th,  i:  -  volunteers  in  tin-  rondurt  of  n •:•  His 

I  priiicipals  or  auxiliaries.  \v«-re  to  ].t-  found  carrying  the 

banner  of  the  Creat  King;  \vitl»  its  bright  ground  of  yell. -w.  and 

its  thrre  broad  -tripe    of  blue  ;  a  -ign  that  now  waved  ominously 

in    the   eye*    of  «.ur  A«h-!anta-!o.  \vhein-vi-r    it    appeart'-l.      I;    had 

to'him    the    omen   of  evil   (Uw»  be   trembled  in  his 

d   When  he    beheld     it.        He  -\itll    the 

:'that  my-'  :  lie  red  men — mysterious  to 

.  11  known  to  him-r,:  m  he  had 

•hrown  in  single  combat!     That   overthrow  rankled  ii. 

.soul,  but  it  al><>  lended  to  di-ami  his  >pirit.      1  )e  S,.to  \\  a-  .-..\\.-.l 
by  hi-  Fate!      The  fore-t  chieftain  >   -ciit    him  insolent  n 

defy  ing  his  arms  and  challenging  him  to  combat.     Once,  and  su<-h 

defiance  would    have  spurred    him  to  the  i 

ment  !      Now.  he  sutU-n-tl  it  to  Lr"  unliee.led.      Like  a  tii^er.  with 
bn-keii  limb,  he  lay  crouching  in  his  lair.  fuIKof  venom,  but  \\ith- 
p  to   spring  upon    hi-   \ictim.      Tin-  Adelai/ 
•h  hi-  care-.  gn,\\ii.^  daily  i  wrowe,  i 

morbid   (,f  j!;ind.  •  !y.      Ili-   f.-ro.  ity   sul-ided 

i.is   bloo,! 
:, is  brain.      His   ph\  -irian    at    length   dc>pairvd. 

1  b-    hill,    •  '  "'HI    NMIS, 

'.  withheM  from  lii-  people. 

'iwhile.  th.-  work  of  the    briganti1  1pidly  jm 

..ii-d.  under  the  eager  a'  Spaiiian:  the 

inhnsjiitable    tenr  .K-hian.        While   comp  i 

red  timber,  others  gathered  rosinfromt 

third   divi-i«  '  'irth  was 

kept  in  hand,  vigilant  and  ready,  for  the  :  imp. 

j   in- 

tlie  bil-i: 
milted  to   relax.      '  .  ike  Mauvila,  a  for1 


518  VASCON6ELOS. 

town,  and  the  scattered  dwellings  of  the  place,  required  to  be  well 
watched.     De  Soto,  to  his  usual  habits  of  pn  -caution,  had,  oflate, 
adopted  others  of  an  extreme  sort,  betraying  a   nun-hid  appre 
hension  of  danger.     His  sentinels  were  doubled  ;  each  night  )iis 
cavalry  mounted  guard   in  the  >uburh>  of  the  villas- 
hand,  and  ready  for   the   sally    or  defence.      A   pair- -I   of  trumps 
alternated,    during   the   night,    between    the    several     stal 
while,   along  the  river,   cross-bo'vim-ii   in   canoes    kept   vigilant 
watch  upon  all  approaches  from      e  opp..>it,-  -h. 

But  this  vigilance  was  observed  onlv  wiiile  1  )e  Soto  \\.is  him 
self  able  to  assert  his  authority.  With  his  inert •a>ii:_  iii: 
this  organization  fell  to  pieces  The  extra  sentinei<  were  dU- 
pensed  with;  the  cavalry  found  it  hard  to  mount  guard  during  the 
night,  when  they  had  probably  been  on  a  foray  all  day;  the  trooper-* 
finding  there  were  no  alarms,  gave  up  patrolling  .  —  bow 

men  fell  asleep  in  the  canoes.  The  Spaniards  wejv  now  stead 
fast  only  in  the  labor  of  building  their  hrigantines;  and  all  duties 
that  seemed  to  interfere  with  the  prosecution  of  this  work,  wen*. 
either  in  part,  or  entirely  foregone.  Gradually,  as  the  heats  of 
summer  began  to  prevail,  all  toils  in  the  sun  were  relaxed.  Tlx- 
forbearance  of' the  red  men,  for  several  weeks,  had  persuaded  tin: 
Spaniards  that  they  had  endured  the  worst  of  their  dangers  from 
this  source.  They  little  knew  hew  much  of  thi-  forhraramv  they 
owed  to  that  person,  who  had  grown  into  the  embodied  Fate 
of  their  great  leader;  and  to  \\hose  agency,  in  ope.-ial.  he  a-- 
cribed  the  defeat  of  his  enterprise  and  the  destruction  of  his  for- 
tunes. 

Philip  deVasconselos — the  Cas^i.jue  Istalana,  -who  had  n>>\v 
the  entire  charge  of  the  forces  of  Tuscalu/a  on  the  Mississippi 
seeing  how  the  Spaniards  \\-eiv  engaged  in  the  const  [-net ion  of 
their  brigantines, readily  divine*  1  their  object.  He  had  no  motive 
to  prevent  their  departure,  and,  consequently  no  de-ire  to  em 
barrass  them  in  their  progress.  Still,  there  was  one  host 
ing,  the  gratification  of  which  he  had  not  enjoyed.  His  revenge 
was  incomplete.  Could  he  have  separated  the  Spaniards  from 
their  Captain — could  he  have  struck  at  Atm  ///'///  and  anothir  — 
there  had  been  nothing  left  him  to  de-ire  !  He  well  knew  that 
through  him  De  Soto  had  been  ballled — that  he  wa>  a  subdued 
and  broken-hearted  man  ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  still 
yearned  for  the  opportunity  to  bring  the  long  NMIC  between 
them,  to  the  final  settlement  of  blood!  This  was  the  black  spot 
in  the  soul  of  the  Portuguese  Cavalier. 

It  was  a  warm    and    sunny  afternoon  of  summer.     The   { 
Urds  might  be  seen  in  groups  a!:.-ng   the  shore,  strolling  through 


CRY    OK    VK\  619 

the  camp,  or  fishing  alt >n«r  tin-   river  in   canoes.     'Iln-y  little- 
pected  the  nrarn«-i«:hl><>rh"«'d  of  the  m  .  rarrior,  u  ho  could 

manage  tin-  war  h    I 

a  close  fortn -  it  in  the  immediate  proximitj  'ap. 

•  •what  isolated  th,-  ^:<>\.      It 
r!  of  jir«»iimnt««r\.      An  ann  ••!'  tin-    river  i  ;.  to 

•  ;he  viilap'.     Thi-  P 
i-il  with  canes,  an<l  the  den-  natural  t< 

II.  re  I-:a!ana  f.  .mid  M.  ith  a  select    body  of  hi 

Ilere  he  kept  >lec:  ii  ujM'ii    tlu-    III<>YI  i 

\Vitljraii«'«-x  al\vay-  at  han<l.  lu 
le  at  pleasure  ;   an.l  was  thu- 
irvi-illaiuv   wln-iu-vt-r    h*1    th-^i.iiht  |>r- 
harlmrs  in  th.-  >ha.l..\v  offfreal  tn  ea  \\lii.-li  iia\. 
tiu-  l.ank-  «.fih«-  river,  tlu-ir  Ixiunli.s  lian^in.ir  "V«-r  an.l  .lij  : 

earn.     \\<  •  .  in  t£ 

:  an<l  tlu-  ! 

•hr  j>ai;i'  .luaii  h-aiK  xailly  anain<t  a  LriL.r.-'nti<    COtton-M 
in  th.-  r.-ar.  an-i  l«.«.k-  Lrl"«'inil y  uj-on  the  j,  !,iin  ! 

[Of  lia>  IM-.-H  t'"r  >i«nu-  tinu-   siU-nt. — «h'i-|>   in   tic 

lie  ha-  oooasionallj  answered,  1-nt  in  m«.n<. -\liai.les  un 

•  jui'Mi«»n«»t*  C<»(;alla.     Slu-  ha->  In  en  v.-ry  Curious  about  that  \\<>rhl 
l,,-y.)i;.l   th«-   ^  iiieh  eoiil.l  si-n.l   f«»!  h.  \\itln.ut   i 

..  xu.-h  a  n<  »l.le  creature  as  tin-  warri.  .r  \\  h.-ni  ^he  n«»\v  l...hl!\  . 
h.  r  own!      .Juan  \\i\<  l"l('n   li^trnini:  with  lie.  .Itul  and  curl 

.;  but  wh^  growing  soUenness  of  aspect     Sud.lenly  \ 

.      He  approaches  .limn,  and.  rath.-r  in  tin-  man 

nrr  .  bo  BOlfloqufeeS  than  asks  a  qu<  Ition,  remarl. 

"  Verily  th.-n-  i^  one  thinir  that  trnnl.les    in.-.      1    liav.-   Mrivrn 
in    vain    I  ter   one  hitter   .  n.'iny.  Ott€    t'oul    spirit,  in    that 

in    vain  !      1    hav.-    Wltcned 

uhen.-ver  thi-v  have   l..-,-n    UJH.II    the    march.      I    ha\  ••  -<'ii-ht  l'..r 
him  thro'i-h  all  the  rank-  of  t,.v  .rfnl 

hour  wh.-n   his    Kitt.-r  malice  wr«»n«rht    mi 

i  vi>a£«-.  or  hrin<:  him  within  the  -tr  1, 

'}        n  \\'\<  colon  still  vM). 

:•!«•.      Still  do  I  see  his   hanneret  waviiiLl  a!-'tt.  \\  h«  n  the;. 
ii|.«.n    th-  1  trow  he   li.-itl. 

\V,  :-.    j  HOW,  I  -nould  feel  as  if  nothing   had  ; 

doiu-  for  niv  o\vn  •  -nothing  for  \\\>-  r.-pair  of  hi>  hrul-»l 

wrnni:  '"  One,      hut  no.  1  \\\\.  .k  of  her!1' 

•  whom  .!• 
bitter  enemy  i>  ti. 

boy,  of  whom  w,-   huv.-   hotli  had  fre.jucnt  cin: 


520  VASCONSELOS. 

anger  and  suspicion.  Don  Balthazar  dc  Alvaro!  Have  you 
seen  ought  of  him  since  we  have  followed  the  fortunes  of  the 
red  men  ?" 

"  Had  I  known,  my  Lord,  that  siu-h  had  been  thy  quest,  in  es- 
pecial,  I  had  spared  thee  iniu-h  search  and  unn.  oessary  peril. 
The  Sefior  Balthazar  was  >lain  the  very  night  upon  which  1  tied, 
in  search  of  thee,  from  tlu-  camp  at  Chialm.'' 

"  ITa  !  slain!  slain! — and  whv  did'st  th«m  tell  me  nothing  ot 
this?" 

"The  Sefior  will  remember  how  little  hath  been  said  between 
us,  safe  from  other  ears,  since  that  time." 

And  the  page  looked  gloomily  in  the  direction  of  Coral  la. 
Verily,  the  page  had  been«suffere«l  but  few  opportunities  to  com 
mune  with  his  master. 

"And  wherefore  thy  reserve  of  speech  in  the  hearing  of  the 
Princess?  She  hath  no  reserves  from  u>  Sin-  is  faithful,  boy  : 
what  hadst  thou  to  fear?" 

"  Fear,  Sefior  !" 

The  words  and  manner  were  those  of  one  who  would  rather 
say — 

"  What  had  I  not  to  fear  ?" 

"Ay,  fear!  But  speak,  Juan,  and  tell  me  how  the  villain 
perished!  Thou  sayst  the  very  night  when  thou  hadst  that 
perilous  and  maddening  ride  in  search  of  me  ?" 

"  Even  then  Sefior  ;  that  very  night!" 

"  And  how? — was  it  in  sudden  strife  with  the  red  men.  that  he 
perished!" 

"  No,  Sefior." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  He  died  of  dagger  stroke,  Sefior, — dagger  stroke  from  some 
unknown  hand !" 

"  Ha!  dagger  stroke,  and  from  unknown  hand  !  Speak.  boy, 
tell  me  all  that  thou  knowst.  Where  did  this  hap  .'  and  how 
knowst  thou  that  he,  who  Lrave  the  blow  was  unknown?  tell  me 
that  !" 

The  lips  of  the  page  quivered.  He  c;ist  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground.  He  was  silent.  Thr«m«:iniir  memories  and  violent 
emotion-  <eem  to  confound  hi<  speech,  and  to  -hake  his  frame. 
Philip  beheld  his  emotion,  and  a  new  light  seemed  to  nMher 
befoiv  his  -enses. 

'•  What  troubles  thee.  ,Iuan  ?  What  hadst  thou  to  do  in  this 
matter?  Ha  !  the  night  thou  fledM  ;  that  fearful  flight  of  thine! 
Sp"ak,  boy.  tell  me  where  was  the  blow  given;  where  did  Bal 
thazar  de  Alvaro  fall  ]" 


,IM.  621 

It  require']  a  L 

"It  was   in   the   el.-imlu-r    ft'  thy  own    1« 
Culth,.. 

i  thou  wert    then- 

it  thy  hand  tliat  >tnirk  the  Mow  at    • 

'I'd.-  In.y  n-'dded  tlj,.  answi-r  that  he  could  not  speak. 
"  \Yh-.t  !    tlieii  thou  w.-i't  in}  "ii  that    }>;\-<-   and 

A'li  too  !''  was  the   halt'  ; 
But  Philip  «!!'!  in»t  liear.      Hi-  Caughl    ; 

"I  tlmnk  tlirc.  l»oy  ;   next    f"   uiii.c   i»wn.  it  \v,. 

r   thy  liaini   to  do  tin-   deed!      V--t  woiilii    it    ha-1  ; 
iiiii!-'  ii\\u  !      Kii<>:  u-t  think  n    is 

;  duty  in  my  thou- 
Hf   ;  .'uan   tVom   hi- 

ilia  upon  lii-  >lmuldiT.  and  heard 

••  Philip     n  PMli]   angry  with  Coealla!''     - 

.luaii  l>roke  away  from  th«-  Lrn»u|)  at    this  DO  md  luirii'd 

in  th.-  thicket,  with  a  h.-art  <['  <  h. 

!    riiiliji!"  murmurt  froin 

rejnains  !''  ijuoth  Philip  d.-    \'a- 

!         '1'ii'    !' 

.r  hath  croaeed  ti. 

A   in 
*.   himself.     He  mi; 

No  arm  -hall  deal  with  him  l»i;: 

i-  h-'.id.      x- 

•    \\ill    pr<>\e    to   li 

.  ulieii  all 
i-   hum' 
(  »h  ' 

eiir.nLrli !     1 1-  mai 

H'  ih< 

!e,i    him 

from   the   l...jee-  !  , 

has  i!;_r  a  Idle.     H  I  men 


622  VASCONSELOS. 

as  he  went ;  Juan  also  saw  and  followed   him.     He  rowed  him 
self  rapidly  across  the  crock,  and  stood  upon  tin-  opposite  bank, 
at  no  great  distance  from  the  line  of  lodges  which  the  Spani. 
occupied. 

All  was  quiet  in  the  encampment.     Groups  of  the  :  «.ldier>  and 
workmen  could  be  seen   in   the  distance,  along  tin-  l>ank-»  of  the 
river.     An   occasional   figure   wound    his  way    along   the    j 
thoroughfares.     The  approach   to  the  cabins  was  parti' 
by  trees:  but  beneath  them  not  a  single  sentinel  couiu 
Philip  eagerly  pushed  forward,  but  with  thcMibiie  stealth 
the  red  man,  and  taking  care  always   to  cover  his   per-on  from 
sight.     How  was  the  page,  Juan,  astonished,  when,  .the 

creek  as  rapidly  as  he  could  after  his  lord,  and  ase 

the    level  of  the  high  ground    leading  to  tin-  Spani>h  camp,  he 

beheld  the  Knight  entering  one  of  the  lodges  of  the  enemy  ! 

At  that  moment,  he  was  called  to  by  name  from  some  one  in 
the  rear.     He  looked  back.      Co^alla  had  crossed  abo  ;   bo\\ 
arrow   in  hand,  and   her   face   and   voice   equally    d  I    her 

alarm.  She  was  followed  by  several  well  manned  canoes.  Very 
hateful  was  the  beautiful  and  loving  Coral  la  in  the  eyes  oi  the. 
page.  He  never  answered  her  call,  hut,  a>  it'  vexed  by  her  pres 
ence  and  pursuit,  he  too  pushed  forward,  in  the  direction  uhich 
his  lord  had  taken,  seeming  quite  reckless  of  the  peril  which  he 
ran. 

Hernan  De  Soto,  a  mere  skeleton  of  himself,  lay    weak,  rma 
ciated,  weary  of  life,  upon  his  bed  of  death  !      He  was  alone — he- 
had    been  left    to    sleep    by   his  attendants  who  had   withdi. 
to  an  outer   apartment.     The   building  wa-   one  of  th- 
odges  of  the  red   men,  which   were   capable   upon   oo 
holding  a  thousand  men.     It  had  been   divided  by  the    Spaniards 
into  several  compartments  by  the  employment  of  <jiiilted  lull's, 
hides    of -wild    beasts,    and    of  their    own    hor>es.   and    mattings 
wrought  by  Indian  art  from  native1  grasses  and  the  bright  \ello\v 
reeds  which   grew    along    the    banks,  woven    together    \\ith   \\i!n 
oziers  which  wen-  evrrv  where  found    in   great    abundance.      Tin 
couch   of  De    Soto   was  prepared   of  like  materials,  orer    which 
•oft dry  rushes  were   stiv\\n    in   sufficient   quantity.      The  lo.i. 
thus   divided,  as  we    have    di-M-rihed.  atlbrded    >e\eral    capacious 
chambers;    the  best   of  which,  fronting  the  smith  \\est.  wafl    OCCtt- 
pied  by  De  Soto,  but  having  in  front  of  it  a  verandah  which  had 
been   Carefully  enclosed  with  vines  and    mats,  in   order  to  th« 
elusion  of  the  fierce  iflaiv  of  the  sunshine.      In  this  verandah,  lay 
irowsing  a  group  of  his  attendants  ;  other*  weie  wont  to  occupy 


TH 


AMP.  523 


the  ch.inil»er  immediately  adjoining,  which  • -filial  of  I  )•• 

e  upon  th."  north,  was  usual  1  to  hi-  b 

guard.  ;i    corps  no\s   n-due.'d    to    h;i!t'  a   d<>/en    men.        RlOM,  th«- 

the  di-tiii"  the  <  JhiefUin's  slumbers,  had 

•  thi>  northern  chamlcT,  and 

.ii  beyond   it.      Here    they  usually  kept  \vati-li. 

:•   a    little  whi  n    they  were    not 

lrow-*!!;Lf  in  'he  \crandah.  they  were  at  play  in  the  court  without. 

1 !  re  th  v  lay  upon  the  loiii:  .  1.  spreftdi  tk  «»r  -kin. 

with  -h  >i.le  up\\ar.l.  tln-y  r«.ll,-.l  th.- ,11.-,..  to  th' 

ual  .  and  fortuiif.  : :  ti 

:lh  to  the  >o:it!i,  was  a  n-xt  and  natural  tr.    - 

;  in  til.-  laniruid  iulluein-.'  of  the  eliniate.  and  in  the  utter 

:n  all  alarm,  the  Spaniard-  iv!a\.-d  all 

t'a.'ir   vii;ilaii«-f.  and  soon — he   himself  totally   un.  th«- 

d\ •';:.       \  _iianletl    thai!    the  eainp 

\va-  th.-  condition  «»f  the   seenc  the  evening  when  w;  lln.i 
Philip  de  \  _  his  entrance    into  '.dcd  — 

without    Allows    «>r  -oiind>    of  war — without    followers;    hii: 
arriic.l    only    with    battle-axe    and    daL'iZcr.      Nothii  I  irse, 

Spani-h  cncanipinciit.  whieh  was    not 
well  known  to  the  vigilant  red  m.-n  who  watched  it  - 

:;iufht.      '1'ii.-  v.-ry  lo  ral  Spanish 

had  all  be  'I'lie  1"  DeS 

-.  tr.irn    its  and   superior    -tnicture — it 

:ioya — ni-ees<arily  in-li- 

th"   .in.-  ino-t  jm.p.'r  tor   ih-    S  b  ailelauta-: 

OODf  with  direct    aim   and  undev;  ^:.-p 

ifiiral  caution  which   li.- 

witii  linih.  \\li.-r.-ver   h«-  could  t-mploy  them  while   mak 

ing  -he  wfiit  not  . 

i  'i.     'I'hev  migl  -  in 

th-'  9     ith  a',d  XV  1    in    the 

mks  «,f  the  river,  look!: 
tli.-  th-wett    showed  DO 

' 

la\  \  hian.      It  WM  fr-m   this 

\'<.      In    hi 

•it     fre'jUellt     'jliu'.p 

B    jrr.iup-  '  the 

ipon 
during    the    cooler   p<>  Now   they   ulef 


524  VASCOXSELOS. 

gamed,  or  wandered   in   the   shady  thickets — thev  did  anything 
but  watch.     They   left   this   duty"  to   the   t'  -A  ho.  'under 

several  of  the  most  aetive  knights,  usually  made  a  daily  p; 
over  a  circuit  of  ten  or  fifteen  miles  along  the  higher  countr 
thus  scouring  it  daily,  persuaded    themselves   that   they  kept   the 
danger  at  a  distance.      It  would  have  been  easy  to  !:  iv'e  darted  it 
upon  the  camp,  thus  loosely  guarded,  desti  vth  of 

the  brigantines,  and  eut  oil",  at  one  fell  swoop, the  entire  garrison. 
with  its  once  brilliant  eat. tain.  Hut  the  soul  of  Hiili|. 
selos,  even  while  it  nursed  loudly  the  pas>ion  for 
was  not  prepared  to  fall  upon  {lie  people  with  whom  he  had  M. 
long  marched  as  a  companion.  He  found  it  easy  to  persuade  the 
Great  King  to  consent  to  the  wiser  policy  of  suffering  toe  Spaniards 
to  depart,  rather  than  to  risk  the  live?  of  thousands  m«>re  .if  tin- 
red  men,  in  the  effort  at  their  violent  extermination  bv  battle. 
Tliscaluea  had  lost  so  many  of  his  bravest  warriors  already,  that 
he  listened  to  the  counsel  thus  given  him.  and  the  war.  {hen.  e- 
forth,  was  conducted  at  the  discretion  of  Istalana. 

Hut  Philip  de  Vasconselos  demanded  his  one  victim.  Had  h- 
been  able  to  see  IT.-rnan  de  Soto.  in  field  or  camp,  he  might  have 
curbed  his  passion  until  the  opportunity  should  otl'cr  of  cutting 
him  off  when  but,  few  troops  should  be  engaged  on  either  side. 
Not  seeing  him  for  so  long  a  space,  h.-  began  to  apprehend  that 
he,  too,  might  have  fallen  in  battle,  or  by  disease,  and  had  been 
buried  secretly  by  his  followers,  who  naturally  dreaded  le<t  the 
red  men  should  wreak  their  savage  fury  on  his  remains,  .should 
they  be  discovered.  Curious  to  ascertain  the  truth,  eager  to 
pacify  his  great  revenge,  Vasoonseloe  could  no  b.nger  forbear  th- 
inquiry,  though  urged  at  the  peril  of  his  own  life  and  liberty. 

Circumsi  we    have    shown,    favored    his    adventure. 

•  no  guards  in  attendance;   there  was  no  watch  about 

t'ne  lodge  of  De  Soto,  and  though  certain    exjiiiivs   oeeiipied   the 

mlah  upon  the  south-west,  whom  Philip  could  i, 
and  who-e  presence  he  did  not  suspect,  yet  were  these  as  little 
prepared  for  danger,  or  a^.-mlt.  as  were 'the  several  gmups  th.,t 
lay  in  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  and  brigantim-s.  or  who  |oit.-n-d 
ainoiin  the  broad  avenues  of  the  woods.  The  Lrn.;,t.-r  b..d\  ••!' 
the  Spaniards  in  camp,  wrre  distributed  among  the  » 

mini:,  or  eiijoNiiiir  that  repose  which  the  heal-  of 
I0QD    be^-tii    to    render    exceedingly  grateful,  aft 
hours  of  labor  in  the  sun.      A  dc» .p  sj|, .,  d\\ell- 

ing  in  which  De  Soto  wa 

passed  bet \s  -irt;il>.     lb-   i.  utterly  un.-s. ••  n.     Ik- 

paused  in  the  ante-chamber,  on  the  nort'  c 


THE    KATE    AM)    I'l  S    VKT1M.  526 

and  listened.     Sounds,  as  of  a  slight   moai  !<>  nini  from 

the  inner  apartment.     He  div\v  a-ide   the   great  bear-akin  wl 

tituted  the  door-way,  and   a.i  :ently  within    tin-    dim 

shadows  of  the   room.      Ii  ined  foot-' 

sound.     The  moaning  eontini; 

of  exhaustion,  and  of  approaching  death. 
Philip  approa.  upon   the   bl 

and  Moo  ;re-  of  him  whom  1  60   in   hi-    hour 

pride  and  hope,—  -exulting  in  all  the  vii_r"r   "f  manfa  I  in 

(be  indolgenoe  of  (he  mott  exulting  hope,  and  the  most  e  . 
ambition*     Iii>  hand  gra-ped  the  battle-axe,  l>ut  th.-   - 

.:  riu'd  his  rage.      II"  WM  chilled  l>y  the  survey.  .  .  -ral 

i  in  silence  upon  the  foe.  whom  lie  ha-'. 
•ined  as  the  one   victim  whose  death  alwie  could  paeif\  his 

lie  now  scarcely  felt  this  emotion. 

"And  this  then,"  he  murmured  to  himself—"  this   i>  the  hriil- 
iant    eavalier,  the   haughty  warrior,  the   proud  chieftain,  the  i: 

.  amhitious  Tamilian.     This  i-  the  man  l.y  \\  ree  1 

was  dishonored  —  made  to  face  and  to  endure  a  terror  \\.u--e  than 
death  —  destroyed  in  hope  —  degraded  from  position,  dishonored  in 

i<jht  of  man  forever.      Verily,  I  would  give  ill"  life  that   I  : 
pa^rd  when  lit'.-  wa-  a  joy  and  ewry  einoti«>n  pr.nni-ed  delight  any 
triumph,  —  could    I    once  more  lu-hold  thee.  ll.-n.ai.  de  > 
1    have   seen    thee  SO    "ft.  —  as   tboa  look'dsi    on  that  terriMe 

!i  thy  doom  Lrave  my  honor  to   di-gracr.  and    left    m--   to  tin- 

death  in  the  wiiderm^>  of  the  Apalaehi.m  '." 
.ips  of  tin-  «l\ing  man  parted.  »'V«-n  as  lie  slej-t.  sprakinf  ii. 

"  Philip   df    \  -."    he   murmured   taintly.  l.ut    Mill   in 

telligibly,  u  give  me  back  my  forces.  Philipde  \'a>-  'iK-u 

DM  "f  all  my  fame.      Thou   ha^t    -  m«-   |i>r- 

•.  in  hope  and  fortune.      Oh  !  that  1  had  th-  •!  n«»ari:i 

t.>    InterpOM    bet*  .sith  weapon    liar»-d.  and    thy    lit'.- 

mine  upon  tli 

••  I  la  !   h«-  invok'-s  me  in  his  dream  !" 

"Then    art    ii  murmured    tl.  i   li;^t 

r«>l'l>»-d    •  I     Oh!    that    I   e.'hld    : 


upon  th.-r  th-  of  m\    -<.|d; 

1  : 
Bel          '     I    am    with   th«-«-      'i'h«-     K:i»«-   thou 

v\  ;  i 

i  i  .  !  . 

%nd  the  eye- 

was  the  2&zt-'  '  ^lo^s  iind 


526  VASCONSKLOS. 

uncertain.     But,  as  the  light  of  consciousness  gradually  dawned 
upon  his  mind,  the  gaze  quickened  with  intelligence. 

"  Ha  !"  he  said—"  I  dream  !    1  do  not  see  !" 

"  Thou  dost  see.  1 1  en i an  de  Soto  !  thou  dost  not  dream.  The 
Fate  thou  hast  challenged  is  beside  th 

"  Ha  !  then  !  It  is  true.  Thou  art  here.  Ah  !  wilt  thou  strike 
when  I  have  no  weapon.  Let  me  but  prepare  for  thee.  Philip 
de  Vasconselos,  by  the  Holy  Virgin,  thou  shalt  see  what  is  the 
prowess  of  a  true  man,  against  the  bosom  of  the  renegade  and 
traitor !" 

And  the  feeble  chieftain  lifted  his  hand  and  pointed  to  his 
armor  hanging  against  the  wall,  and  motioned  as  if  he  would 
have  risen  ;  but  he  sank  back  feebly  and  shut  his  eyes,  mur 
muring — 

"  Be  it  as  thou  wilt !  strike,  if  thou  hast  the  heart  for  it  f  I 
have  no  prayer  to  oifer  to  thee,  traitor  as  thou  ait."1 

"That  word  alone  should  doom  thee  to  sudden  blow.  Hai 
nan  de  Soto,"  answered  the  Knight  with  stern  emphasis, 
"  but  I  will  not  strike  thee.  1  will  lay  no  hand  upon  thee  now 
in  anger.  There  is  a  more  powerful  grasp  upon  thee  than  any  I 
can  lay.  Thou  art  in  the  hands  of  the  ^ivat  master  of  lite,  and 
1  willjjo  nothing  more  against  thee.  Yet.  Hra\vn  l>e  my  witness, 
de  Soto,  if  I  would  not  gladly  help  thee  to  thy  armor,  and 
thee  once  more  put  on  all  thy  strength,  while  1  stood  hetoie 
thee,  with  battle-axe,  armed  as  now.  and  thou  with  any  weapo.i 
or  armor  that  thou  wouldst,  with  none  to  come  between  us. 
Mid  thv  life  and  mine  decreed  to  han^  upon  the  justice  of  <>m 
cause.  Traitor!  Who  made  me  a  traitor,  if  I  be  one?  \Vlu 
robbed  me  of  my  rights,  my  good  name,  my  honors  and  my 
manhood1?  Who  drove  me  into  the  arms  of  the  red  men. — who 
despoiled  me  of  my  abode,  and  security  among  a  Christian 
people?  Who  but  thou?  and  it  is  thou  'that  daiv-t  now,  with 
the  hand  of  death  upon  thee.  and  the  dread  of  eternal  judgment 
Muring  thee  in  the  face— thou.  to  call  me  traitor  !  It  is  thou.  I 
tell  thee,  Hemaii  de  Soto,  that  art  the  traitor  and  the  criminal  ! 
Thou  that  ha-t  di-h.»iu»ivd  the  noble  order  of  knighthood  by 
dMione-t  judgment  ;  thou  that  did>t  debase  thee  from  the  rank 
of  the  gentle,  and  the  noble,  in  becoming  the  tool  and  the  slave 
•  •f  th«-  cunning  criminal,  who  warped  thee  to  hi*  villanous  pur- 
MiakiiiL'  "f  thy  >oul  a  tiling  even  fouler  than  his  own  T 

'•  Ha  !  >hall  I  submit  to  this  insolence  !"  answered  De  Soto  Ml 
louder  accent-.  Hi-  -oiil.  goaded  by  the  >peeeh  of'  Vaseon-elos 

n*>came  arou>ed  for  the   moment.      There  was  a  sudden   lighting 


A   DIGS.  627 

up  of  the  fires  in  his  eye  and  bosom.      Nature,  nei  ved  by  indig 
nation,  put  on  tin*  ap:  iurth. 

ill  I  listen  t-i  tlii-   f.  '.:!-mouth<-d    i 

in  still  louder  accents;  and,  \vith  t  -in  hi* 

couch.  .»ith   uiu  \; 

vigor,  the   last  iction  "f  expiring 

••d  the  til! 

"What,    ho!    without    there!    Guar  iiians. 

seize  on  ti.  lleh>.  t.;  .t  I  nttaj 

Vasconsclos    >•  .nd    the    dyinji 

'.ado  sank  ha«-k  up 

in    th"  a/e.     The    n. 

over.  d,      Hi-  ,  .1,  the 

spasm'  1  the  agonies  ol'  death. 

:.;ii:i:    upwanl.        I  »e 
Soto  lay  befir.'  him  ;.  . 

a  moment,  the  Portugese  cavalier  contemplated  the  riLri'l 

-the    unconscious  «rlare    of  his    .. 
starinu  BYet,      But,  suddenly.  .  I,  battK'-ax.-   in   hi-  j 

an«l  strode  Across  the  chamber.    Tii  .nnorin  th«- 

southern  vrranuali.  .d  of  hea  . 

hurryiriL'   tVet    in    the    eliamber  whieh    lay  brtweeii.      I  )e    ! 
had  bren  heard  by  his  drow-iiii:   attendai:' 

•n-elos  lifted    thr  b.-a r-k in,  e!«i-ii:ir 

the  c:,'  .--ni    chamber,  and  j-a— «-d   ti, 

iu>t   a  f  De  3  !   from   tiu- 

r.      He  pa-.-ed  \\ithout  interruption   through   the 
iorth<  •  ~.  through   th«-    v.-randah    un-  d    th-- 

t'oiirt,  and  sped 
the  for  h.-    emerged      S;idd,-nly.  a   \vil.i 

to  ari-e  lu-hind  hiiii. 
He  looked   backward  :  a  group  01 

from  the  quarters  of   1 )«  up-  in 

•In-   i'i- 
stim'tive    drfiance    in    th  \  .    prompted    the 

.var-whooji  with  which  he    r-  'hem    in    tl 

of  the  red  men. 

lid  not  inereas. 
>ul  was  at   its  full  stature,  aii'l    i, 

the   fuirit:  .     .       11 
onward    witli    the    ii'iit  of  one  who  would    r  e    th.m 

escape 

bifl    juir-jn  r.      H<-    \S;IN   MI   fairly   • 
them  that  ':  t  havu 


62b  VASCONSELOS. 

crossed  weapon  with  his  own ;  and  the  river  swainj)  was  nigh,  Oft 
the  edge  of  which  lay  his  canoe. 

At  that  moment,  the  voice  of  Juan  was  heard  ;  'hind  him,  cry 
ing  aloud, 

"Hasten,  Senor  Philip- -Listen  my  lord,  they  prepare  to 
shoot." 

He  turned  with  surprise,  in  the  direction  whence  the  sounds 
arose,  much  wondering  to  perceive  the  boy  behind  him;  \\hen, 
even  at  that  instant,  the  holt  fas  delivered  from  the  cros-howot 
one  of  the  Spaniards,  /i  1  he  beheld  the  boy.  as  he  thivw  himself 
directly  upon  his  path.  The  next  instant  he  saw  Juan  mil  over 
upon  the  sward,  with  the  arrow  quivering  in  his  bosom.  The 
boy  had  thrown  off  his  arm-mr  of  eqcaupU,  as  mosl  of  the  red 
men  had  dor.o  in  that  wai  .  and  not  expecting  strife;  and 

in  his    jacket   of  thin,  unbuilt."  .  the  deadly  -hat!  h;,d    met 

with  no  resistance. 

With  a  dee]>  cry  of  sincere  corrow.  Yasconselos  darted  back 
ward  to  where  the  hoy  lay  upon  UK  strand.  To  ..rather  him  up  in 
his  powerful  arms,  and  hurry  with  him  down  the  slope,  to  the 
canoe,  was  the  work  of  a  few  nu  ncnt,  only.  As  he  reached  the 
shore,  he  heard  the  voice  of  Coral  la,  Drying — 

"  Hither,  Philip,  hither!    Jleiv  canoe." 

He  followed  the  sound...  and  s;.feiv  em-  red  the  canoe  with  his 
spe  elik-ss  burden.  'Hi.-  rowers  1-  sk,  the  boat  sh..t 

through  the    reedy  thicket,  and    k, :\  ne.-.rly  re.ich.  d    the  opposite 
shore,  when  a  crowd  of  Spaniards,  all  armed  with  ar<{Uel»nse  and 
cross-bow,  appeared  along  the   margin  of  the  shore  which  they 
had   left.     There  were  shots  sent  after  the  fugitives,  bullet  and 
arrow,  but.  with  hurried   aim,— they  were  delivered    frui- 
and  while  a  thousand  of  tin-  red  men  answered  with  their   tearful 
whoops,   the  shouts  and  threats   of  the  Spaniards,   the  cai 
Cogalla  shot  safely  into  cover,  in  a  lai^une  hidden  from  all  sight 
by  the  dense  thickets  of  its  reedy  shore. 

In  a  green  lodge  by  the  river  side,  they  laid  the  insensible  form 
of  Juan,  the  pnire,  upon  a  bank  of  rushes  ;  and  Philip  de  V 
selos,  with  a  grievous  sadness  at  his  heart— for  he  saw  that  the 
wound  of  the  boy  was  mortal — proceeded  tenderly  to  withdraw 
the  deadly  shaft  from  his  bosom,  where  it  was  deeply  lodged. 
But,  at  the  very  first  effort,  when  it  became  ncce-s-iry  to  tear  open 
the  vest  of  the  boy,  his  eye-  opened,  and  he  raised  his  bands,  and 
pressed  down  his  irarments,  and  murmured  that  they  should 
desist.  But  in  this  elTort  he  ;iLrai:i  fainted;  and  while  li- 
thus  unconscious.  Philip  de  Vnseonsclos  cut  the  strings  which 
secured  the  jacket  of  the  boy  in  front,  and  lo,  when  he  had  open- 


TH:  529 

it,  tin-  \\  bite  -l<in  b-  m  ath,  a:nl  tin-  full,  round,  white 

I  la  !    1'hl.  ;alla.  who   had  as- 

1  the  knight    in  his  efl'ort  ;   "ha!    Philip  !   it  is  a  daughter  of 

the  pal*-  tact--.      It  i-  oi .•  a  woman  who  hath 

:'hilip  to  the  battle." 

Anil    Philip  ^n-atly  wonder.-d,  u>  much  at  his  own  blind  igno 
rance,  which  had   kept  him  so  lon.H  in  darkm--,  M  a!  :!. 

uion.  th-  irhich  he  now oomp  linainoi: 

:  limed.      "  II,.ly  Maria:"   and   ti. 
ot'  ti.  a -.:a  in   unclosed;   and   .-In-   now  knew  what    hud 

i  what  had  been  di.-eovi-ivd  ;  and  .-he  .-L'hed  deeply,  and 
the  t»-ar>  ^atlim-d  i'»t"  h«-r  «-yt-s.  and  she  .-trove  to  cover  them  with 
h.-r  '  i'inMi  the  kni.irht  .-aid — 

1  ;\  :a  !    i-  it  thoii  ?" 

murmured — 

••  \Vi!t  li. 

••  r  ; 

i  wept,  :uni    !i'-r   -ob-  w- re   lonu  and   deep, 

•bi-il.  ihe    kni'_r!:t    l«-nd«-i-ly  withdrew    the    bai'bed 

arrow  from   tii-'  wouihl  ;   a-id    though   he   -tn»vi'   to   -ave   her  from 

t  the  ac:ony  wafl  very  proat,  and   M^'iin  she  faintrd.     But 

1   issned  freely  froi:  .ixi  \\hfi:  I  ve  to 

.nch  it.  her  eyes  <n  the  li^ht,  and 

••rjilhi  who  w.'i-  J   the   bleeding 

and  to  bind  up  the   wound  ;  :md   with  a   - 
her   :IA  iv,    ami    tore   oil  the  buudfiges.      Then    IMiilip    inter] 
and  she  lay  -ilent,  ns  he  strove  to  do  for  1  had 

denied  -h.'uld  l»e  done  by  CoQftlla.     Hut  though  tin 
up  the  hurt,  p   of  liniment  ;>ties 

\vh  i  men  knew  well  how   to  use,  yet  was  all  i 

vain,  for  d  bled  inwardly,  rind  tl  • 

hurt  was  mortal,  and    that   the  life  waa  fast  • 

et  fountain  which  it  had  wanned  with  sueh  fidelity,  and  made 
!o%v  with  so  much  passion,  and  such  feminine  devotion ;  and  the 
k'irl  mnr:  Philip,  speak ii  dla — 

"  I.-  t  !.-  r  go  hence  for  a   while,  Sen  show 

Philip  whispered  CoQulla  away,  and  Olivia  do  Alvaros 
•aid- 

••  It  is  well.  Now,  Philip,  that  I  am  about  to  lose  thee,  let  mt 
tell  thee  how  much  I  love  t: 

"  Alul1'  he  tiaid,  "my  poor  Olivia,  it  needs  not.     Know  I  not 

fltftf/" 

And  the  answered — 


630 

"But  thou  knowot  not  that  I  am  innocent  of  wrongdoing, 
Philip,  and  this  is  what  I  would  show  tlioe." 

She  spoke  but  little  more,  but  of  this  she  was  most  eager  to 
<pi-:ik.  And  she  hade  him  look  into  her  jacket  of  esoaupil.  where 
a  packet  had  been  sewn  up,  which  r-hould  touch  him  all  her  cruel 
ni>tory  ;  how  the  had  been  wronged,  but  how  sho  w;.s  innocent; 
how  she  had  been  dishonored,  but  how  she  was  an  unwilling  and 
unconscious  vicfim  to  tin-  base  and  cruel  arts  of  her  brutal  k  1118- 
inan.  In  this  packet  thus  delivered,  he  read  the  terrible  history 
of  her  grief-.,  (-Ven  as  \\c  have  already  delivered  it.  But  he  did 
not  read  uniil  >he.  \\a-  no  more. 

She  died  in  the  arms  of  Philip  ;  but  she  bade  that  Cocalla  should 
turn  away  her  face,  and  leave  the  spot,  ere  the  parting  moment 
came.  Then  she  bade  that  Philip  should  lift  her  from  the  rushe^ ; 
and  when  he  did  so,  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  laid 
her  head  upon  his  bosom,  and  so  her  pure  and  suffering  spirit  went, 
with  a  sweet  sigh,  and  a.  fond  embrace,  the  memory  of  which,  in 
lG--g  years  after,  sweetened  greatly  the  solitude  to  the  heart  of  the 
knight  of  Portugal.  They  buried  her,  in  the  great  solitudes  of  the 
Mississippi,  under  the  shades  of  many  guardian  trees,  and  the  river 
'oils  ever  along  with  a  deep  murmur  near  the  hallowed  spot,  ad  if 
it  .~ang  fond  anthems  for  the  repose  of  a  troubled  soul. 

Midnight,  and  there  was  a  solemn  stir  in  the  Spanish  encamp 
ment.  There  was  a  roll  of  martial  music,  and  the  wail  of  solemn 
voices,  as  they  sang  ihe  awful  dirge  of  death  over  the  remains  of 
the  once  mighty  Adelantado.  1  Ionian  de  Soto.  Then,  in  the  deep 
ening  darkness  of  the  night,  they  placed  the  corse  of  the  Adelan 
tado  in  the  core  of  a  green  pine-tree,  which  had  been  hollowed 
out  to  receive  it,  and,  nailing  over  this  a  cover  of  heavy  plank, 
they  towed  it  from  the  shore,  under  an  escort  of  a  hundred  canoes, 
to  the  centre  of  the  river,  and  there,  with  a  solemn  service,  they 
consigned  it  to  a  bed  beneath  the  great  stream,  sinking  it  deeply 
k-t  the  avenging  red  men  should  possess  themselves  of  the  corse 
of  him  who  had  wrought  them  so  much  evil  while  he  lived,  and 
wreak  upon  his  unconscious  frame  the  fury  which  possessed  their 
souls  a-rainst  -him. 

But  Philip  de  Vasconselos,  who  beheld  the  scene,  and  readily 
divined  the  nature  of  the  solemn  service,  would  not  suffer  his  wur- 
rior>  to  disturb  its  progress;  and  from  the  banks  of  the  river,  in 
the  darkne-s  of  the  night,  his  eye  watched,  and  his  soul  brooded 
gloomily  over  the  close  of  !)••  Soto's  career,  and  he  reflected  upon 
the  -trarig--ne*s  of  that  ambition.-  fortune,  which  should  have  found, 
in  all  iUs  wild  career,  nothing  so  wonderfnl  as  the  river  which  b* 


COr.M.LA.    Hill."  '  HIQOT.  581 

burial-place  of  the  hero.      Nor,  when   I).    S«.;.»  was  thus 

con-iLrned  in  hi-   I-  .  did  Philip  suffer  that  the  Spaniards 

1  hi-  troubled  hy  his  follower-.      !!••  saw  them  depart  in  their 

Mowing  the  Homing-  ot'the  Mississippi  in  it-  pa 
to  the  ...  a,  and,  when  on.-  of  the  ve>.-els  hearing  the  banner  of  his 
brother  Andre-  glided  down  the  stream,  beneath  the  banks  upon 
which  he  it  went  hy,  he  cried  audibly — 

"  Faivwi-11  to  tlu-e.  my  brotln-r ;  fare  thee  well,  Andres  de  Vas- 
lOi  ;  tan-well  for  ever!" 

And  the  Spaniards  went  from  sight;  and  in  due  season,  after 
i:rany  -trite-  and  trinls  did  they  reach  their  homes.  But  Philip, 
leading  his  warriors  hack  to  the  great  king,  Tuscaluza,  turned 
auav  once  more  loward  the  mountains  of  the  Apalachian  ;  and 
when  he  had  left  the  territory  of  Tuscaluza,  and  om  *  more  got 
hack  to  that  of  Cofachitpii — and  when  the  warriors  of  Cofachiqui 
-i -rnbled  with  greeting  and  songs  of  welcome  about 
their  prince-s,  the  well-In -loveil  Cor-alla — then  did  that  noble  crea- 
ture  lay  her  hand-  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  knight  and  say — 

••  Philip  i<  now  the  great  chief,  the  well-beloved  of  the  people 
of  Cofachiqui  !" 

And  the  knight  smiled  witn  a  sweet  sadness  upon  the  dusky 
prince-s  a-  they  pa— ed  into  tlie  great  thickets  leading  to  the  aji- 
( ient  village,  where  the  two  fir-t  met,  on  the  banks  of  the  Savaa- 
nah.  And  how  the  heart  of  the  woman  gladdened,  when  at  last, 
in  reply  to  her  frequent  murmur  of  the  name  of  Philip,  he  «i- 
iwered  with  that  of  Cocalla ! 


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